Music of the Light
by cslev
Summary: My sequel to the movie, an Erik-Meg love story beginning when Meg steps through the broken mirror to follow the Phantom. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1 The Departure

**_MUSIC OF THE LIGHT_**

**_Chapter 1 - The Departure_**

Meg stepped through the broken mirror into the dark tunnel, the fragments of glass crunching loudly beneath her boots. Holding aside the heavy curtain, she glanced over her shoulder to take one more look at the damage he'd done before leaving. Though his quarters were tastefully furnished and kept in perfect order, every mirror had been shattered. Shards and sprinkles of glass covered the floor, reflecting the candlelight and making it appear to be on fire. She bit her bottom lip, still unsure of the wisdom of her plan.

_Am I doing the right thing? _she wondered, _following him into the tunnels, violating his privacy? __And when he finds out, will he even give me a chance to explain why?_

Shaking her head, she told herself that she would just have to make him listen. He wasn't thinking clearly, and had not been for quite some time. She would help him get away from Paris for a while, give himself time to recover, time to think. Yet this was the only home he'd ever known, his refuge and his kingdom. Judging by the obvious care with which he had furnished it, making it comfortable and inviting, it had everything he needed and still afforded him complete privacy as well as freedom. From here he had managed and ruled the opera world above—her world. Here he had used his gifts in music, inventing and architecture, as well as painting, judging by the capable watercolors hanging above his desk. Still, as her eyes traveled over the designs and fine fabrics that expressed his tastes, she could not help noticing the silence and the loneliness of this place, apparently only recently relieved by Christine's presence. Her unwilling presence…

Turning away, she dropped the velvet curtain back into place. Hopefully no one else would discover the entrance behind it. As she started down the dim passageway of the tunnel, she counted 30 paces and stopped, running her hand along the rough surface of the wall. When she felt the latch she pulled it, relieved when the wall panel slid open. Reaching inside, she grabbed the strap of his leather bag and pulled it out. Clutching it beneath one arm, she closed and re-latched the compartment, pausing in sudden alarm.

Echoing toward her was the muted roar of voices and the trump of many feet--the mob was coming for him. Her throat went dry just remembering those few terrifying moments she had spent in its grip until she had been able to break free. Though it was comprised of her fellow performers, stage crew and opera guests, added to it were dozens of street people, police and fire men. Somehow they had all joined together for one purpose--to find the phantom and punish him. Praying they would not find the route which led to his quarters, she hurried along the dark musty tunnel and came to the first fork. Choosing the opening off to her left, she followed along its mazelike turns guided by her mother's clearly coded directions. Reaching yet another fork she nearly cried out for joy at the sight of faint torchlight ahead. It bounced crazy patterns of light from wall to ceiling, beckoning to her to follow. Lengthening her stride, she began to close the distance between them, finally distinguishing his scent. It smelled like the outdoors, a fresh combination of evergreen and spice which was decidedly masculine. Breathing it in caused a flood of memories that transported her back in time. Although it had been nearly three years ago, she remembered every detail of the night when she had first smelled it.

After another fight with her mother she had run away, determined to take charge of her own life. It had not mattered then where she would go and she had made no plans. Somehow she lost her way in the city and found herself being followed. They cornered her in a wet and filthy alley, two masked men against whom her best efforts to defend herself only proved pitiful. Unknown to both her and her assailnts another followed her, and guided by the sound of her screams he had found her. It had only taken an instant to recognize him, for there was no mistaking the silent menace in his tall, muscular stance nor the lethal grace in his movements. With quick efficiency he had bested one of her attackers and frightened the other off, injuring himself in the process. And when he had turned to face her she saw that he was unmasked. His eyes had locked with hers to ask permission to approach, and after only a quick glance at his deformity she'd reached a hand toward him and given it. Bending over her to check her injuries, she had looked into his magnificent eyes and seen a tender concern which was at distinct odds with the grim set of his lips and tense angle of his jaw. Filled with relief she remembered choking out her thanks and gripping his shoulders as he had gently enfolded her in his arms. He had held her for what seemed a long time, his soft reassurances making her bury her face against his neck. There she had breathed in his scent in thanksgiving, gulping and sobbing through tears of hysteria which dampened his shirt. Unable to stop, she remembered how he had unfastened his cloak and wrapped her inside its warmth to cover her tattered clothing. She remembered the strength of those arms lifting her, holding her against the solid wall of his chest as he'd carried her home.

Since that night she had taken up a vigil of watching and waiting for him, praying for another encounter that would bring them close once again. Even tonight, despite everything that had happened, she yearned to comfort him as he had comforted her. But all this time he had stayed away, choosing another to invite instead. But she would not think about Christine, her best friend. As she noted the air turning colder and less damp, she realized they had climbed to a higher level in the maze and would be nearing the exit. Pulling up the collar of his black velvet jacket, she inhaled his lingering scent which clung to the fabric and concentrated on what she might say in order to approach him.

_Let me show you to a place where you can stay, Erik…they are expecting us._

Too forthright, she decided with a frown. He would only resent her planning ahead as if she were sure of his failure to win Christine's hand tonight. Perhaps another approach…

_Maman and I care about you…we just want to help you find a better life._

Well aware of his pride and tendency toward anger, she worried that he might interpret their concern as pity, especially after having just suffered the humiliation of a public rejection by Christine. As she rounded the corner in this section of the tunnel she suddenly caught a glimpse of him and shrunk back. He was striding toward the exit tunnel and there wasn't much time left. Moving close to the wall she continued after him, keeping her eyes on his retreating form as her heart swelled with emotion. She had done the same thing he was doing now, running away without thought or plan, his heart broken and his thoughts scattered. Whether her mother had sent him after her three years ago or he had just made it a habit to keep a close eye on Louise Giry's only relative, he had come after her and rescued her. She had to do the same thing for him, and find a way to win his permission.

_"_Forgive us for not understanding," she whispered, following much further behind. "Christine wasn't brave enough to love you—"

It would be better not to mention her name, Meg decided. Christine had led him on, made him believe he had reason to hope in her love. Then she had betrayed him at the worst possible time, interrupting what should have been the premiere of his first opera. This night might have ended so differently for them all, she thought bitterly as she watched the light from his torch dart around another corner. It dimmed considerably just before she heard a muffled sound. Following him around another bend in the tunnel she slowed her steps, staring into the distance under cover of the dark shadows surrounding her. When she saw how close they were she stopped and clung to the wall, watching him carefully.

He was standing ramrod straight with his back to her. In one outstretched hand he gripped the torch that illuminated his profile. Afraid to breathe for fear of him discovering her presence, she watched him turn his head to one side, his attention focused upon the torch. She could hear the soft panting of his breath as she studied him and wondered what to do next. It occurred to her how out of place his Don Juan costume looked, the ruffled collar and cuffs of his dress shirt too white in the dingy darkness. Its yoke clung loosely to the slope of his wide shoulders, tucked into a black satin cummerbund at his waist. The dark brown trousers he wore fit perfectly, detailing the long muscular lines of his legs, also tucked inside his black leather riding boots. He had left behind the matching bolero jacket without a care for the cold night awaiting him beyond the tunnels. She realized she had never seen him without some form of cloak to conceal the athletic build of his lean body, and without it he looked much less mysterious or frightening. He looked like any young nobleman who was part of French society.

Yet when she let her gaze rest upon the deformed side of his face, she knew why he had never joined that society. Tonight Christine had publicly exposed him to that society by ripping off his mask. Meg thought of the white half mask she held within his bag as she noted the warped structure of his cheek and nose. The roughened contours of his skin were startling at first sight, the sunken set of his right eye alarming and frightening when one did not know the man hidden deep inside such confines.

She could hear that his breathing had slowed, yet he continued to stand on alert. Did he sense her presence or hear her breathing as well? If so, why did he not acknowledge it? He had never to her knowledge exhibited fear, and as she watched him begin to relax she decided that he remained unaware of her presence. The stiff alarm in his posture faded, yet still he seemed intent on pausing his retreat. What was he waiting for?

As he slowly lowered the torch she saw his head lower in defeat. She watched and waited, throat tightening and tears welling up in her eyes. Shaking her head, she realized what he was thinking of doing. Tears slid from one eye and trickled down her cheek at the thought of what that angry mob might do to him. Even if he did survive their wrath, surely he would face imprisonment. Perhaps that would be a worse fate for a man like him. He had nearly died from being caged and mistreated before her mother had rescued him. He had still been a boy when they had met, and now Meg knew she had to do something as well. Unfortunately her desire to help him was complicated by two glaringly different factors: Erik was no longer a boy, and though he had risked everything to be with Christine, she had rejected him.

_Go to him…_

It was an impression that whispered through her mind, urging her to trust her deepest feelings for him. In her heart it would be perfectly natural to run to him and throw her arms around him. She wanted to hold him as he had held her, to let him know that she understood his pain and offered the same comfort he had offered her. But even if somehow he might allow that, she doubted he would let her lead him away to a new life, far away from this place. Still undecided, she watched him place the torch in a wall sconce with a great sigh. Planting a hand just below it, he leaned into the wall as if for support, shaking his head. Then he turned and slumped back against it, sliding down to sit upon the floor with a ragged sob tearing from his throat. It echoed throughout the tunnel while he braced arms over upbent knees and lowered his head to them. As his shoulders shook in silence she fisted her hands, telling herself to stay away as she listenined to his ragged breathing. After a moment he threw his head back against the wall.

"God, forgive me," he cried out, his voice hoarse with emotion. "What have I done?"

Meg covered her mouth with her hand and leaned heavily against the wall. Unwillingly she listened to his outpouring confession of sin. Well aware of the fact that she had no right to hear them, she cherished every dark detail, hungry to learn as much as she could about him. With tears sliding down her face, she listened to it all, absently caressed the lapel of his jacket. The only reassuring thought she had was that he seemed to believe in God and was not too proud to pray and humble himself. But her overwhelming emotion was one of guilt as she held her place and witnessed what no other human being had. They lived in separate and different worlds, yet she had proff that here was a man like any other, a man who had hopes and dreams, all of which had been cruelly shattered.

Erik choked back his grief, closing his eyes as regret and shame churned within him, tormenting and mocking him. He had known it would be a tremendous risk, stepping out before them all to make one last appeal for Christine's love. Assuming the role of Don Juan had made it easy to approach her, and it had allowed him to step into a place only normal men could occupy to publicly confess their love. It was a proposal, he felt like shouting, couldn't they see that? Couldn't they understand how hard he'd struggled to stay away from her until he could win her permission to even approach, unlike her boyfriend who tasted and took from her long before any thought of even a proposal! He had even poured the entire span of his feelings into his music to present it to her, even singing it for her, for them. He'd offered her his music, his voice and his love, ready to accept even the slightest bit of whatever she might give him in return, even if only her friendship. Her eyes and her touch had beguiled him, teased him and lured him, but it was only a tease. Where he might have survived her rejection, he doubted he could survive her betrayal. It was the cruelest of blows, after all their years of sharing a love for music. He had gone to great lengths to teach and train her, and now that she was a star she no longer had any use for him.

Absently butting his head against the wall behind him, he admitted his anger and jealousy, his impatience and pride, even his lust. He confessed it all, including the fact that he had no one to blame but himself. It was true that their rejection was unfair, but he had protested it to the point of destroying everything he'd worked so hard to create. As he opened his eyes and gazed up the crumbling ceiling above, he realized how low he had fallen. Ashamed for his behavior, he knew that somehow he had to make up for it, and for all that he had done.

"I could go back," he said aloud, listening to the lonely echo of his own voice, "give myself up…let the mob do to me as they wish…God knows, I deserve it—"

He was interrupted by a great crash echoing throughout the tunnels, this time from a different direction. Turning his head, he listened and calculated its origin, picturing them looting and trashing his quarters. There were other sounds making their way toward him as well, these coming from outside. Suddenly it occurred to him that the fire would bring another crowd together to watch the opera house burn, and no doubt more looting and stealing. Quickly getting to his feet, he knew he must make a decision, and quickly. Either give himself up or get away as quickly as possible. If the former, they would either kill him or imprison him. Swallowing hard, he considered his future, heart pounding in anticipation.

"Death would indeed be a relief," he stated objectively, "but prison…."

Could he face another cage, one where they could expose him, ridicule him? He had faced that before, but that was also before music. Surely he would be denied music, and without it he would be of no use to anyone, including himself. This could lead only to madness, the prospect of which was too painful. So with one more backward glance he listened, turned back and sprang into a run. Choosing a freedom he did not deserve, he fled madness with every fiber of his being. Running past the last fork in the tunnel, he felt the cold air streaming toward him and fixed his gaze upon the dark mouth of the tunnel. As he drew closer he saw that, unfortunately, something was very much out of order.

There were horses standing there—theatre horses, including his own. He saw how the moonlight made Prince's jet black coat appear navy in color. And for some odd reason Prince was the only horse saddled. Then he saw the men, two of them, one stocky, the other smaller in build. Both were masked...horse thieves!

"Stop!" he shouted, running out toward them. The slighter one turned and spotted him, freezing in fear. The other shouted his protest, pulling at Prince's reins. Erik's stallion reared up and whinnied in fear, startling the man. Taking the opportunity to grab the reins, Erik shouted at the other horses to scatter them. The man lunged toward him as he was suddenly gripped from behind, his arms forced back. The heavier man grabbed his shirt as the horses danced around them in confusion.

"They're getting away!" he accused, punching him in the stomach as punishment. Doubling over, he gasped for breath as Prince protested. Then shoving himself up and back against the one holding him, Erik thrust both booth at his attacker, kicking him in his ample stomach as he struggled to pull his arms free. He watched in satisfaction as the man fell back, striking his head against a post and slumping to the ground. Twisting and finally breaking free, he fought the other, finally becoming aware of his the shouts of the mob at the front of the opera house and the choking blanket of acrid smoke hanging over them. Taking one last swing, he managed to knock the man aside and turned to grab Prince's reins. Greeting him in triumph, he grabbed the pommel, vaulting up into the saddle. As he turned toward the street a woman's voice called out to him.

"Erik—watch out!"

Swerving his head, he saw the bigger man coming toward him as a woman ran out from the tunnels in their direction. He noted the glimmer of the man's smile as he approached, unaware of the danger coming up from behind him. She had bent to pick up a tree branch and was swinging it at the man between them. The wood hit the back of the man's head with a dull thud, making his smile falter as he stumbled in surprise. Trying to control Prince's nervous stomping, Erik sensed something about her that was familiar, finally placing her voice.

"Meg," he breathed as she continued toward him, completely unaware of the man starting after her. Suddenly he knew that he had to take her with him, or she would be left alone to face both men and whoever else managed to come along. He also knew he could not let that happen, not again. Leaning toward her, he stretched out his arm. Her hands clamped around it as the toe of her boot pressed onto his foot. Pulling her up, he winced at the strength in her grip before catching her by the waist and planting her sideways before him. Her hand shot to the pommel as she curled herself against his chest, sliding her arm around his back. He was turning Prince around when her piercing scream distracted him.

"He's back--" she cried.

"I want that horse!" the thief roared, flinging his arm up as Meg's boot kicked him in the chest.

Gripping her waist to steady her, Erik felt something thrust into his thigh, the pain stealing his breath. Vaguely aware of the man falling away, he bent forward in an effort to breathe. Prince galloped down the alley and he was aware of her leaning back against him as she swung a leg up and over Prince's head. By the time they reached the street she had repositioned herself astride. With little room in the saddle between them Erik was forced to straighten despite the pain and an eerily warm sensation spreading over his thigh. Guidging Prince to their left he galloped down the side street as they tried to keep from falling. Her feet lifted from his but he bent close to her ear.

"Put your feet back!" he ordered, surprised when she immediately obeyed. Her small hand covered his, and he was surprised at how cold it felt.

Bolstered by a mixture of fear and triumph at having escaped, they took the northeastern route leading away from the city. The stiff wind pressed against them, urging them to huddle closer for warmth. A full moon bathed the city in silvery brightness, but behind them the opera house glowed a faint orange, its blackened smoke subsiding as the fire was brought under control. Ahead lay the dim ribbon of highway, twisting as it cut through the dark landscape.

She was shivering despite the velvet jacket she wore, which he thought looked strangely familiar. It fit her more like a coat than a jacket, reaching nearly to her knees and swallowing her up in its bulk. Beneath it she was dressed nearly the same way he was, apparently ready for the interrupted scene of _Don Juan _which by now was lost to the opera world. He judged her a capable rider as he attempted to ignore the feeling of her small, compact body pressed intimately against his. His gaze shot to the leather bag bumping against her hip as they rode, a man's bag that also looked familiar. He studied her suspiciously, wondering why she had followed him from the tunnel as if she were leaving with him on holiday. But he had to admit that her warning had prevented what might have been a more seriously placed knife wound. She had put herself in danger to defend him, yet he had no idea why.

c. 2007 by Christine Levitt


	2. Chapter 2 The Accomplice

_**Chapte 2 – The Accomplice**_

In an attempt to distract himself from the pain burning and radiating throughout his leg, Erik began to sketch a plan in his mind. At the top of his list was his objective to rid of Meg as soon as possible. She was Louise's daughter, the foremost reason why he refused to involve her any further in his crimes. Furthermore, though her petite size would not tax Prince's strength in the least, riding double with her was proving more and more uncomfortable for differing reasons. Every jolt between Prince's hooves and the hard earth shot incredible pain into his thigh. Meg's feet rested over his boots, and sharing the stirrups prevented him from stretching out the cramping in his injured leg. To make matters worse, her closeness was wreaking havoc with his senses. The perfect fit of her in his arms and her touch upon his hand or knee onl;y made him crave more of what he could not have. Added to that was an intoxicatingly feminine fragrance emanating from her hair. It tempted him to bury his face into its softness and enjoy pleasures he had no right to enjoy. Even as he planned looking for the nearest livery to rent a coach for hiring her return to Paris, his eyes traveled appreciatively along the lovely curve of her cheek until he caught himself and jerked his gaze away. In that same moment she placed a hand upon his arm and half turned toward him, forcing him to tighten his arm around her waist to keep her seated before him.

She met his startled gaze, her forehead and nose wrinkling in puzzlement. Suspicious of her motives and the ease with which she had adjusted to their difficult situation, he waited for her to explain her presence there. Had the pounding gallop and rush of wind not prevented any previous conversation between them, he would have demanded an explanation at the outset. But now they rode at a canter, and she seemed to be ready. He quickly prepared himself to receive whatever account she would give him to explain her following him through the tunnels. In retrospect he realized he had been aware of a presence following him there, but now that he knew who it was he was frankly astonished. Whatever had possessed her to follow him, let alone put herself in the middle of his fight with the horse thieves? And how on earth did she know his name?

Her eyes finally broke their grip on his, surprising him. He had stared down many opponents in his time, but of all of them she had held out the longest. How her attention circled over his temple and forehead, settling upon what must be the wild array of his untrimmed hair. Her brows rose in confusion and he thought of the thick black wig he always wore but tonight had left behind. Pursing his lips in frustration, he found her attention diverted there. When her gaze traveled over his lips and chin he forced himself to envision the verbal whipping he would no doubt face when her mother discovered he'd taken her along, however unwillingly. Instead of focusing on the stirring within him caused by her interest in his lips, he committed his attention to composing a fit explanation that would not only satisfy Louise but the authorities as well, should they be still together when overtaken and arrested.

_I kidnapped her in an attempt to improve my chances for a safe escape,_ he decided. This would seem a reasonable excuse in light of his previous kidnapping of Christine and holding Raoul prisoner, even to Louise's sharp mind. And it would prevent anyone from envisioning Meg as wanting to help him, an obvious criminal, escape to freedom. He almost smiled with satisfaction at his plan, but when her hand settled gently upon his thigh he winced in pain, meeting her worried frown.

"When are we going to stop and tend your leg?" she suggested more than asked.

He shook his head even as his thigh was gripped with another painful spasm. "We're not."

Her expression changed to surprise as she slowly withdrew her hand, holding it up between them. Her eyes widened at the blood covering her fingers. "You're bleeding too heavily to continue—"

"We cannot afford to stop!" he shouted, immediatlely gentling his tone. "They will be coming after me and I cannot let them find us together."

She looked up and met his gaze for only a moment. Then she turned away and quickly busied herself with some task he could not determine. Thankful for her understanding he forced himself to relax as best he could, wishing he could offer her a handkerchief to clean her hand. But surely that was what she was busy seeking: one of her own.

"We can stop just long enough to bind it—" she called back without turning. "I have a piece of—"

"I said no!" he shouted, wincing at his loss of temper.

She turned her head, gripping his arm for balance as she did. "But you don't look well!" she protested.

He pulled her closer, pressing his cheek against her hair."Do you fancy being caught and thrown in jail?" he growled. "Then where will you be, my clever little accomplice?"

She pushed away, shoving at the arm he kept around her. "No one is following us!" she complained, unable to match his strength. "But even if they were, it won't do them any good if you bleed to death first!"

"You don't think they want me alive?" he laughed sarcastically. "If I do bleed to death they will consider it a favor—"

"How can you even think that?" she screeched. "Of course they will want you alive!"

"For what--a fair trial, or even more absurd, a lenient judge?"

To her credit, she held her tongue and turned back to her task, effectively shaming him for his outburst. He told himself she was only trying to help and that it might be better to cooperate at least until he found some way to get her home safely. Gripping his throbbing thigh, he considered how to next proceed. Though he took several moments to search his memory, he couldn't remember the last he'd apologized. How was this to be handled, he wondered, interrupted by a cold drop pf water hitting his head. Snapping his attention heavenward, he noted the misty swirl of clouds swaddling the moon, and beyond them an ominous bank of thick clouds which were no doubt heavy with moisture. At that moment she turned and pressed something against his thigh, forcing a hiss of protest from his lips as pain shot up and down his leg. "What are you do—"

"Lift up—" she ordered, insinuating a hand beneath his injured thigh.

He bit back a curse as she leaned over it to grasp the other end of some strip of fabric. It looked suspiciously like a ribbon, and this she brought around his leg to tie just above the wound. Concentrating upon the need to keep them boh from pitching from their shared saddle, he was nevertheless aware of her deft application of the tourniquet. He forced himself to respond appropriately to her soft commands, her obvious concern for his health shaming him further. An unwilling sense of gratitude rose up within him, gratitude not only for her help but for her company as they rode through the cold, deserted landscape. Though he would never admit it, he was touched by her efforts. Worse, he felt a slight softening somewhere deep within the regions of his chest. Why did she care about him at all, he wondered, shoving away the ridiculous thought that she might be attracted to him.

"There!" she declared, knotted the ribbon and looking him in the eye. "_I _needed that!" she snapped, her tone slapping him back to reality.

Raising his guard against any future wandering toward sentimentality, he committed to memory the stiff set of her shoulders and the disdain in her expression before she turned away. Bereft of any previous warmth emanating from her kind heart, he felt icy drops begin to pelt his back, then his head. Within seconds these formed a more predictable stream of sleet and rain, the combination of which made him curse the flimsy dress shirt of his own Don Juan costume. The fact that it fastened only halfway up his chest caused the top half to continually slip open, serving now to catch the wind like a sail. Meg leaned back to direct her gaze to the skies, making him curl himself away from the close contact of their bodies. After a moment he felt more than heard her sigh.

"At least the rain will have the benefit of washing away your trail of blood," she declared, quarter turning toward him, "not that anyone will notice."

Trying to formulate a response, he studied the delicate curve from beneath her chin down her throat, interrupted by the defiant splat of a raindrop onto her cheek, then another onto her lips. She turned away once again as together they suffered an onslaught of pelting raindrops, soaking his shirt within seconds. When one drop slid into his right eye he stiffened, blinking in surprise. He pulled his hand from her waist, slowly reaching up to touch the right side of his face. Hardly believing it was unmasked, he wondered how he could have made such a momentous mistake. Even more astounding was the fact that she had not seemed to notice it either. In fact, now that he considered the matter she had looked at him as if he were completely normal, as if the right side of his face was not disfigured. He lowered his hand to his good leg, studying her profile with renewed suspicion. Why did she not cringe at his appearance? No one had ever treated him this way before…not ever.

His eyes traveled from her profile down and over the black velvet jacket she wore…_his jacket_. Her hand cradled the strap of the bag slung over her hip…_his bag_. What was she carrying in there, he wondered. Precious treasure? Her own things? Moving his gaze back up to the perky tilt of her chin and sweet curve of her lips, he decided he had had enough of her comments, touches and orders. Even the ghost of a smile suddenly playing along her lips troubled him. He'd given her ample time to explain herself and she had not. And he wanted to know why she had his belongings.

"It's not polite to stare…" she sang, turning her head enough to glance meaningfully at him before turning back forward.

The slight rebuke in her tone made him smile in anticipation. Their upcoming verbal duel would be a welcome distraction from his misery, he imagined. The picture of her rummaging through his chest of drawers, packing his things all without his knowledge or permission made it even more tantalizing. Leaning close enough to speak directly into her ear, he grinned at the little shiver of fear that tickled along her spine, vibrating against his chest.

"Neither is it polite to _steal_," he breathed in challenge.

She snapped her head around, bumping her adorable nose into his cheek before quickly pulling away. "It wasn't stealing! _Someone_ needed to pack for you—"

"Without bringing anything for herself," he teased, leaning closer, "except of course for stealing _my_ jacket."

Suddenly and to his great embarrassment he shivered involuntarily.She turned back, dropping her eyes to the place where the thin wet shirt lay plastered against his chest.

"I'm sorry, she drawled, her hand lifting the lapel of his jacket as she dragged her gaze up to his, "want it back?" Her coy smile only made the lovely line of her lips even more attractive, effectively unsettling him.

"Keep it," he scowled, looking forward. "I would hardly be a gentleman if I took it away from you."

He felt her stiffen and grip his arm. "How on earth could I have forgotten?" she gasped, transferring that hand to the bag at her hip. "We brought one of your cloaks!"

_"We"? _Gazing at her as if she had lost her mind, he watched her dip a hand inside and tug at the corner of some thick material. She swayed to one side with the effort and he had to pull her closer to steady her. Keeping a hand at her waist, he watched dumbly as she extracted his woolen dress cloak, layering it in a mound over her lap. Then she turned in his arms, lifting the top toward him.

"Let's get this over your shoulders first," she ordered, seeking the opening in front.

Her hands smoothed over his shoulders and chest as she worked, her touch spreading throughout his being. He suddenly lost all desire for anything but feasting his eyes on her face, yet he hid it by meeting each upturned glance she offered him. Between them they managed to set his cloak around his shoulders and fasten it beneath his chin. Lifting his arms one by one, he enfolded her beneath its heavy cover, drawing her close. It cut off the flow of cold air and misting rain streaming around them, rewarded their joint efforts with its sheltering warmth. Together they worked to secure the ends around their hips, then she half turned and reached up to pull the hood over his head. Their eyes met and a jolt of awareness leapt between them, surprising them both. He could see it in her expression as she stared at him, her hands resting upon his shoulders. His eyes were drawn to her lips as they curved into a sweet smile. He could even smell the sweetness of her warm breath, they were that close. Suddenly she seemed to blush, though the light of the moon was fading. Turning forward once again, she settled a bit stiffly back into the circle of his arms. But something stronger stirred to life within him, though he steeled himself against it. Reminding himself of Christine's prior flirtation and subsequent betrayal, he pressed Prince back into a gallop. As if sensing the change in him, she stiffened her back and leaned more forward as if to put more distance between them. Though the rain subsided the silence between them grew tense. As his pain worsened and he jerked his emotions back into order, he decided he needed another distraction and leaned closer to be sure she could hear him over Prince's thundering hooves.

"Why did you follow me through the tunnels?" he asked, his tone more accusing than intended.

She turned her head and caught the edge of his cloak from the wind. "I was worried about you," she stated, tucking it back in place.

Well aware of her close friendship with Christine, he rejected that explanation. "Somehow I find that hard to believe."

She shook her head, keeping her gaze forward. "I would have come down sooner but I was caught in the mob and couldn't break free."

"Really?" he drawled, suddenly mortified by the realization that she had witnessed his making a fool of himself with Christine. "I cannot seem to envision you in such surroundings."

"When I finally managed to get away I found my way down to your quarters," she said, half turning to face him. "But I couldn't find you."

Her last words were softer in tone, so convincing that he hardened his heart against them. "You just so happened to find your way through a very difficult maze of tunnels no one else has seemed to conquer, but why would my absence prompt you to come looking for me?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Why wouldn't it?"

"Don't answer a question with a question, _Meg_."

"I'll do as I please, _Erik!_"

He pursed his lips, determined to get to the truth no matter what he found. "How do you know my name?"

"Mother told me years ago—she said you preferred it be kept secret, so we have always respected your privacy."

Not even Christine had known his name, a fact which oddly had never occurred to him before. Now that he realized it, it bothered him a great deal. "You hardly know me," he accused.

"I know enough."

"Enough to what?"

She held his gaze without flinching. "To begin to understand you, despite all your efforts to prevent it."

He leaned closer. "Why would I want that, and just what is it that you think you have discovered?"

She lifted her chin. "That you like being in charge—to mention one thing in particular."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, of course--and you insist upon hard work with absolute dedication, with little use for idle pursuits."

"Do I?" he breathed, shaking his head. "And you have come to these conclusions all on your own?"

"I'm hardly alone, thanks to your frequently and demanding notes, which by the way are highly revealing of their author."

He frowned moodily. "They are my most efficient method of communication."

"I disagree," she said lightly. "It is your threatening appearances in the top balcony, particularly during public performances, which are by far your most effective method, reaching many more people in scope."

Ignoring a stab of guilt at his regrettable outbursts of frustration, he glared at her. "I too must be the perfect performer in my assigned role as ghost or phantom!" he shot back. "That is not my true identity so you err if you think you understand me."

She ran her gaze over the ruined half of his face, further unsettling him. "I never thought of it that way, you being the performer; but now that you have explained it, I think I see things from your perspective."

"Good, then you agree."

She tilted her head and studied his tight expression."Maybe..but was it always necessary to play the role of the cruel, unrelenting ruler of the Opera Populaire?"

He tightened his jaw, looking away. "The opera would have been nothing without me."

"That's true, but surely you must admit to having an artist's temperament—after all, everyone knows that about you."

He swung his gaze back to her, tightening the hand around her waist. "None of this explains why you stole my things and snuck after me, toting my luggage as if joining me on holiday!"

She faltered a moment before expelling a frustrated huff. "Someone had to use some common sense, instead of running out into the wintry night dressed like Don Juan—"

"Winter is nearly past, and _you_ should have kept to your _own_ affairs and stayed home!"

"My home—and Mother's home—is now burning to the ground!"

The thought of them left homeless had not occurred to him, and left him feeling the pain of an intense regret. He gripped his leg and looked away. "It was my home, too."

"I know it was," she said less heatedly, "and I know you didn't mean to destroy anything but you should not have left the way you did."

He snorted in mock humor. "Forgive me for not bidding everyone a fond farewell—"

"You didn't have to go at all!"

"What other choice did I have?"

"Mother and I wanted to help, but you left before we could—"

"Don't be facetious—"

"And you said it yourself—the opera is nothing without you! How do you think we will manage, now that you've left?"

"That will not matter if it has indeed burnt to the ground!"

"That was an exaggeration—we didn't stay long enough to find that out."

"No, I was otherwise preoccupied!"

She sighed in frustration but he pretended not to notice. "I would hope you would at least care about the opera."

He turned to direct his gaze ahead without looking at her. "I'm afraid my ability to care or offer anything constructive to anyone has unfortunately deserted me."

"I find that hard to believe," she said. "You have always been an example to us all—"

He laughed sarcastically. "I certainly have—how to lose one's mind in four simple lessons."

"No, an example of what it means to truly care for someone," she continued, ignoring him. "So much so that you would risk everything for the one you love."

He frowned down at her upturned face. "You don't actually believe that—"

"Of course I do."

"So did I once, and look what it has left me!"

She gripped his arm. "Things can always change, Erik, even after we have lost hope."

He looked up into the darkness before them. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Tonight you taught us all an important lesson—"

"I do not wish to talk about tonight--"

"You have so much to offer, Erik, so much--"

"Is that why you followed me?" he interrupted, glaring at her. "To take lessons from me, be my student?" _Like Christine was…_

"Of course not!" she huffed. "I told you, I was worried about you—I wanted to make sure you were all right!"

He tried reminding himself that this was Meg, not Christine. Shaking his head, he focused upon her future instead of his own. "I've no more taste for this discussion—what matters is that you apparently did not consider the dangers and risks you took by coming after me!"

"No, not with the mob at my back and the building on fire--I just acted on impulse, as you did!"

"You could have been lost in the tunnels, or injured—" he warned, a sudden vision of her lying senseless in the darkness of his tunnels rising before him. "They were designed with mazes and traps to keep people out, regardless of friend or foe!"

"I didn't care—all I knew was that I couldn't let you leave that way—"

"I had every right to leave and frankly I think it was in everyone's best interests that I did!"

"Not Maman's and mine!"

"But not of it concerns you—"

"It does!" she argued. "I care about you and I know you care about me—at least you did in the past!"

H heard the catch in her voice, knowing exactly what she meant. He saw her bite down hard on her lower lip, and that it trembled slightly. He sighed mightily. "You don't understand!"

"When you came to my rescue that night, I saw you for who you really are," she choked. "I think I know you better than anyone else--"

"No, you don't," he insisted, frustrated by her youth and idealism.

"I know how deeply you cared for my safety, and how gentle you can be--"

"I'm not that man—"

"You were and you are!"

"Things are not as they were," he tried to explain. "I don't even know myself anymore."

"I know that you are a fine man who cares deeply—"

"Stop filling your mind with romantic fantasies—"

"And just because Christine failed to recognize that—"

"We will not discuss this—"

"I love her like a sister but Christine is a fool to choose Raoul over you!"

Stunned, he watched her hand fly to her mouth as they both stared at each other in silence. Her confession hung between them like a banner, as clearly outlined as if she had written it out upon a sign. In that moment he realized that the Meg he thought he knew was an illusion, just as vague as her illusion was of him. On the other hand it became suddenly clear to him that she had changed, grown up, and somehow had acquired some very strong opinions, especially concerning him. The discovery put him immediately on alert and he realized how carefully she had been watching him, perhaps even more closely than she had Christine. Now, in a time of crisis which involved them all, she had chosen to come after him, not Christine. Yet as Christine's friend one would suspect she would hold nothing but hatred for him. He had assumed that together they would have cheered his departure, as everyone else would. Finding the questions all this raised more than he cared to handle at the moment, he felt suddenly and completely drained and exhausted. Slowing Prince to a resting trot, he felt his anger fade right along with his strength.

"...maybe we're all fools," he said quietly, avoiding her gaze. Yet he could feel its weight upon him.

"Are we fools to follow our hearts?"

He closed his eyes, unable to answer either way.

"You rescued me, Erik...was that foolish? And what about Maman? She risked everything to help you…does that make her a fool?"

A chill swept over him, as did an unexpected wave of dizziness. He bent his head, willing it away. _No--I cannot be sick, not now._

"Well—" he heard her breath catch. "I guess that makes me just as foolish as my mother."

He took a deep breath, praying it would pass. He wanted to tell her she was no fool, but that she was just like her mother, having the same decency and compassion. Feeling the nausea lift away, he tightening his arm, pulling her closer despite her obvious reluctance.

"You're no fool," he answered quietly. "And I did not mean to be harsh with you."

After a moment he felt her relax in his arms. "I know you didn't."

"Neither is your mother--I owe her my life, as I now owe you."

She shook her head. "No, but you do owe that tree branch for lying in the perfect spot..though it didn't seem to help as much as I had hoped."

Remembering how she had swung it and knocked the man down, he groaned. "I still give you the credit."

"I only wish it had prevented you from being hurt," she frowned, touching his arm. "How can you stand the pain, Erik? It must be excruciating…I cannot get the picture of that knife out of my mind."

He looked up, grinding his jaw. "I've managed pain before."

She shifted uncomfortably, moving forward to give him more room. Still gripping his thigh, he wondered how much longer they had to ride until he found a place to send her off, safely back to her mother.

c. 2007 by Christine Levitt


	3. Chapter 3 The Borderlands

_**Chapter 3 The Borderlands**_

They had reached a truce of sorts, but it was exhaustion which prompted them to continue the journey in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Even huddling close beneath Erik's lined cloak failed to provide them any real warmth from the cold, damp air, so they rode in companionable misery. The distant ridgeline was outlined in pale moonlight, but thick mists shrouded the base of the mountains, allowing only a few of the taller evergreen treetops to poke through. Alongside the road the fog prevented them from seeing little of their surroundings, so when tiny points of light began to appear they knew they were approaching a village. Meg was the first to respond, leaning forward to smooth her hand along Prince's mane in thanks for bringing them to civilization. Somehow his steps seemed suddenly livelier, and she turned as if to comment upon that fact.

Erik felt like crying out in joy and pain, relieved to be able to stop yet concerned about the condition of his leg. It cramped and throbbed incessantly, and his foot kept losing feeling. Though the prospect of dismounting was tempting he wondered if he could even accomplish it. The binding tied around his thigh had stopped the heavier bleeding, but waves of dizziness and nausea hinted that his loss of blood may have been greater than he'd first imagined. Determined to promptly send her back on her way to Paris, he promised himself he would deal with his injuries after that vital task was finally accomplished. So when she turned to face him he kept his eyes on the small homes lining their route, praying that no one would notice their passing. He wanted no interruptions until Meg was safely on her way.

"We'll stop in the village to find you a way home," he said quietly. "Your mother will be worried about you."

She stared up at him as if surprised, and he wished he could see more than the whites of her eyes and the bright flash of her teeth. But it was too dark.

"In case you haven't noticed, it is the middle of the night," she breathed. "Furthermore, I can assure you that Maman will not be worried about me."

He grimaced at the prospect of another argument with her. "Of course she will be—you know how protective she is."

"But Erik…this was all her idea."

He glanced down at her before looking away. "I'm in no mood for joking—"

"I'm not joking," she answered, touching his arm. "She foresaw everything and planned accordingly."

"Foresaw what?"

"Your having to leave, of course."

"Yes, I know, but that has nothing to do with you."

"But it does," she insisted, shaking her head in frustration. "How can I explain this?"

He frowned savagely. "I have no idea but you had better make it quick and keep to a whisper."

"She overheard Raoul planning to set a trap for you at the premiere, using Christine as the bait. Maman feared you would walk right into it and give them the ability to expose you."

As her words registered within his weary mind, humiliation crashed over him. Why hadn't he seen it? Why had he continued to trust Christine? Speechless, he felt her hand tighten on his arm.

"They wanted you to leave for good, and she knew that if you did you would take the tunnel leading directly to Prince."

So they had all expected Christine to reject him, Erik realized, and had planned for it accordingly. But why hadn't Louise warned him? Had he known a trap was in place, he never would have set foot on that stage. At least he hoped he would not have.

"Maman made it her business to learn your tunnels," he heard her continue, the words spilling out once freed. "For years she worried that you might fall ill or be injured without anyone knowing, so she started to follow you to learn her way around. It was for your own good—"

"How efficient," he answered bitterly.

"She did not mean to intrude upon your privacy, but circumstances of late changed all that. Of course she enlisted my help should things not go well for you."

He looked away. "I never suspected anything."

"The other day, when Christine took a carriage to the cemetery and you were nowhere to be found, we went down and walked the route. She told me to be ready if it looked like you would have to leave. It was her greatest fear, Erik, that you would force Christine to choose between you and Raoul—"

"Don't—"

"We all knew Christine loved you, in her own way, but she was too weak to do anything about it. Maman disapproved, saying the match would not be good for either of you—"

"Stop—"

"You know Raoul forced her to confront you, Erik—"

"Keep to your mother's role, please!"

"All right! Maman said that if you left I must follow you—she didn't want you to go alone."

Thankful to have finally reached the large livery at the edge of the village, Erik eyed her intently, raising a hand to his lips as he slowed Prince to a stop. Keeping within the dark shadows, he studied the stream of light pouring from its open door, waiting and listening. But there was no sign of life. He felt Meg's hand on his shoulder before she leaned close enough to whisper into his ear.

"This is not necessary—we know a safe place not far from here…let me show you there."

Her touch affected him more than he cared to admit, so he continued staring at the building, willing someone to appear. "Why don't you get down and see if anyone is inside." To emphasize his wish, he took her elbow and eased her away. "Careful..."

She yanked her arm from his grip. "You cannot just drop me off here!" she hissed, cupping her hand over his cheek as he turned away. Her hand retreated quickly, then touched his brow. "You are burning up!"

He pulled her hand away. "I'll not ask again," he warned, pushing her gently away.

She gripped his shirtfront. "I won't leave you, not now when I know you're ill! Please, it's not much farther—they are expecting us."

"I cannot keep you with me—"

"You need medical attention; they have a doctor," she stated despite him prying her fingers from his shirt. "I can leave from there—please, be reasonable!"

"You've got this all planned, haven't you?" he hissed back. "How convenient that you should choose this moment to assert yourself, or were you waiting for me to pass out so you could take over?"

"No, I waited until you saw how ridiculous your plan was!"

"I didn't have a plan!" he hissed angrily, knocking her hand away from his face. "I never had a plan, can't you see that?"

She froze, staring at him and making him regret his anger. He felt torn between outrage and gratitude, humiliated by his own blindness to Christine's duplicity. Taking the opportunity to curve his arm around her waist, he quickly lifted her from the saddle and leaned over, sliding her off Prince's back. She planted her hands on her hips as he gasped for breath, nearly swaying before he could straighten enough to gaze meaningfully down at her. He nodded toward the stable.

"Just see if anyone is inside—"

"No one is awake at this hour!" she protested. "We don't know a soul in this place! Please Erik, let's keep going—"

"You cannot be seen with me, not here, not anywhere—now go!"

"I'm going to help you the same way you helped me," she insisted, staring up at him. "I owe you that."

He stared at her in stunned silence, her motives finally clear in his mind. She was helping him out of gratitude, not pity. For once, the possibility of letting her crossed his mind.

"I merely did what was necessary," he answered, gripping his leg.

"You did more than that…if you had not come along when you did…"

Disturbed by the memory of her near rape, he shifted his attention back to the empty livery. Suddenly he realized that she was right. Even if he found someone suitable to see her safely back, it could not be until morning. Where would she stay until then, and with whom? Wiping a hand over his face, he considered her vulnerability, seeing her as the lovely young woman she was, someone whose reputation he had compromised just by taking her with him. How could he leave her in that position? Perhaps the authorities would take longer to find them, giving him time to distance himself from her. And if she was found with friends, both her safety and reputation would remain intact. No one would even suspect her of helping him.

She stretched up along his good leg to clutch his sleeve. "Please, Erik," she whispered, looking around the darkened buildings with concern, "don't leave me here alone."

He held her eyes a moment before nodding curtly. "All right," he croaked, bending over to thread his arm under hers. "It appears we have no other choice."

She climbed up and settled herself astride once again, turned to smile back to him as he reversed their direction and headed back toward the road. They rode in silence until they were well out of earshot of the outlying farms. Then he touched her arm, causing her to turn back to face him.

"Once I see you safely there, we part company," he warned. "It will be better for both our sakes."

Her eyes traveled slowly over his features. "Then I will be the one to leave," she said, pulling the reins from his hand. "But for now, let me guide Prince. You don't know the way."

He released his hold on the reins, shifting closer to reply to her suggestion. "I must not stay in any place too long," he explained. "Whoever harbors me will be suspected of breaking the law."

"What law?"

"I think you know what I mean."

She lifted her chin. "Without medical attention and rest you won't be going anywhere."

"I must not involve anyone else—"

"Do you have a better plan?"

He tightened his jaw and looked away. "I might."

"How could you, having just run from the only home you've known!" she complained. "You need time to rest and come up with a real plan—"

"In case you've forgotten, I am a fugitive," he growled. "They will be searching for me, and an investigation is sure to follow. Anyone caught helping me will come under scrutiny."

"We are very close to the border, well beyond their jurisdiction—"

"I need to keep moving—alone!" he raved. "No friends! No doctor to report me—"

"How far do you think you can go, burning up with fever and badly wounded—do you want to lose your leg or bleed to death!"

"If I do then so be it!"

She stared at him in horror. "What do you mean by that?"

He gasped in pain, gripping his leg. "What do you think I mean?"

She muttered a retort under her breath, turning away just as another wave of nausea threatened him.

"Are you always this stubborn?" she complained.

"Always!" he shot back, gratefully distracted by their battle of wills.

She huffed, turning her head toward him. "We shall see where your stubbornness lands you this time, Monsieur—most likely in the ditch!"

He pulled her closer, earning a slap on the arm. "Surely you have a plan for that, Mademoiselle--you've planned everything else!"

"How could I, never expecting you would get yourself wounded."

He raised one brow at her. "So things do not always go according to plan."

"I can see that, thank you!"

"You're quite welcome!" he breathed, winding his arm around her waist and placing his lips by her ear. "Though your motives have without a doubt proven quite noble," he whispered, "you may very well regret the day you had anything to do with me. I'm sure by now your mother does."

She planted a hand on his chest and pushed, making him chuckle. "Helping a friend is not a noble gesture," she retorted. "And yes, these past few months you've caused Maman enough gray hairs to last her a lifetime!"

Her words penetrated his defenses, having the desired effect. He felt suddenly drained, both emotionally and physically. "You're probably right," he sighed tiredly. "Though that would never have been my intent."

Satisfied, she turned away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He hated burdening her or anyone else with his problems: it made him distinctly ill at ease. But as another wave of dizziness swept over him he was forced to admit he was in trouble. What if he passed out and fell off? Where would that leave her? As it began to pass he realized they were already climbing, probably leaving France behind at this point.

Feeling her shiver, he watched her draw her arm out to rearrange his cloak, tightening it around her side. Warmer than was comfortable, Erik gently pulled her back against his chest, feeling her stiffen but eventually relax back against him. They rode on in silence, the fragrance of her hair keeping his nausea at bay. Unfortunately it also heightened his senses and made him all too aware of her femininity. She sighed contentedly, unconsciously urging his eyes to close just for a moment. Prince labored hard and pulled them upward along a switch backed trail. Jerking his head up, Erik realized how close he'd come to resting his forehead upon her shoulder. He struggled to keep awake, and decided conversation would help.

"Tell me how you know this place," he ordered gruffly.

She half turned her head toward him. "Did you ever meet Ben, Louise's adopted son?"

Erik was stunned. _Louise had a son?_ He shook his head. "I haven't had the pleasure."

"He is four years my senior…a brother in every sense of the word."

"Why has no one ever mentioned him to me?"

She shrugged. "You've had enough on your mind, especially of late."

Feeling insulted, he said nothing.

"She found him begging on the streets for food, and made sure she bought something from him. After watching him for some time, she offered him a job."

"Was he an orphan?"

She nodded. "Maman began paying him to do errands for her…it wasn't long before she made him a little room in the dance studio, keeping him secret from everyone but me."

"Reminds me of another boy," he drawled, shaking his head.

"That is just Maman…though your paths may not have crossed, Erik, Ben knows about you; we used to talk about sneaking down into your quarters and making you welcome us."

"Why didn't you?"

"I think we were all afraid of you, Erik…I'm sorry."

He snorted. "You're not alone in that."

"No, I don't mean your appearance, I mean your intellect, your temper…you must admit you can be quite intimidating."

"Let's just talk about your brother."

"Well, from the start we knew he was very bright, like you. Maman found him an apprenticeship with an old friend of my father's from Denmark, a retired surgeon. He sponsored Ben's education and medical training, and he runs the parish where we are going."

"Ben lives there?"

"Yes, several years now; if you stay you will have a chance to get to know each other, in a friendlier environment."

Erik heard the warmth in her voice, intrigued by her story. "So you are looking forward to seeing them, Ben, and this Pieter…"

"Yes, very much," she said. "And you will have not one doctor, but two to tend your leg."

He frowned, thinking of a plan. "Will they be able to see you safely back to Paris?"

"If I so desire, yes of course," she admitted. "After they stitch you up and we can get some food and rest, you'll be better able to make whatever decisions you need to from there."

Erik had to admit to an intense longing to fling himself down and rest. Just finding oblivion might ease his pain. As they rode on in silence he felt more and more drowsy, unaware that his head dropped toward her shoulder.

"Erik?"

Her voice echoed toward him, as if she were still calling to him from the tunnel. He tried to answer but his throat was dry. Wetting his lips, he found the effort too great. When her fingers closed around his wrist he pulled his eyes open, yet was unable to focus. She guided his arm around her waist and kept hold of it.

"Try to hang on," her voice echoed. "Only another half hour."

He straightened abruptly, surprised at his own weakness. "All right."

She turned and studied him so intently he felt like laughing. "What? Did I do something wrong?"

"No…I just wanted to tell you it's all right to lean on me," she said. "I won't break."

_c. 2007 by Christine Levitt_


	4. Chapter 4 The Arrival

_**Chapter 4 The Arrival**_

Feeling his arm go slack yet again, Meg tugged it back around her waist, praying he would not pass out. She could feel the unnatural heat radiating from his body, the chills shaking his body as his fever climbed. He was half delirious, half asleep from exhaustion and she worried he might fall from his horse. Then what would she do? As if to confirm her fears, his forehead dropped to her shoulder once again.

"Erik, wake up," she said sharply, shrugging her shoulder. With a groan of protest he lifted his head but only to the level of her ear. She felt the tickle of his breath there, raising ripples of pleasure which flowed along her skin as he whispered.

"You smell luv-ly," he sighed, framing her sides with indrawn arms. "Like flowrs…"

His closeness was creating havoc with her senses and she scolded herself for reacting so strongly to him. He was ill and didn't know what he was doing, she reminded herself. Still, it felt as if he were holding her in his arms, his body sheltering and protecting hers.

"You'll see plenty of flowers at the parish," she told him with a smile, remembering the alpine meadows up by Pieter and Arlene's cabin. "Fields and fields of wildflowers."

"Mmmm," he sighed, nuzzling his face against her neck.

She felt her color rise from his sleepy boldness. "Prince will enjoy grazing in the fields and running to his heart's content," she imagined.

"Umm-hmm," he breathed, lowering his head back to her shoulder. When his arm fell away again her eyes filled with tears.

"Please, Erik," she choked, fearing for his condition. She nudged Prince's flank with her heel. "Hurry, boy," she coaxed the stallion, who quickened his steps as if sensing the urgency of their situation. They climbed higher and then she heard the sound of the river in the distance. It meant they were closer than she had first thought. Finally beginning to hope, she breathed a prayer of thanksgiving.

"Almost there," she announced, feeling her mind begin to wander back over the past few hours spent in his company.

If anyone had predicted that one day she would be running away with the infamous "phantom of the opera" she would never have believed it. Yet here she was doing exactly that and wondering where she had found the boldness to do so. Even more unexpected was the ease with which she found she could order him around and stand up to him. With a tiny smile of satisfaction she decided he wasn't so tough once you respected him and really got to know him. Now that she had engaged him in the effort, she was eager to learn more about him. For months she had watched him pursue her best friend with initial success. But when Raoul reentered Christine's life the impossibility of Erik's situation was too much for Christine and she forgot all about Erik, much to Meg's astonishment. Comparing the two men, Erik far more compelling in his efforts to woo and win. He was brilliant, passionate, unfailingly loyal, obsessive and unpredictable, yet he had a gentle and tender side, one which since first glimpse Meg had vowed to see again. Though she knew it would take a great deal of effort and patience to coax from him, she was determined to accomplish it.

His weight pressed her so far forward that she worried they both might slide off Prince's back. With one backward jab of her elbow, Meg succeeded in rousing him again.

"Ow," he gasped, stiffening and pulling back, his arm tightened along her hip. "Wha's wrong—?"

"You were falling asleep," she declared, turning her head. "We cannot both fall off, can we…how are you feeling?"

Already his eyes were closing again. "Awful, than' you…"

She nearly laughed at his words as she took his arm. "It's not much farther and you can lean on me as long as you don't pass out."

"No need…I'm all ri…"

"I know you are," she soothed, telling herself it wasn't really lying but more a way to encourage him.

"…'m in your hands…" he breathed, lowering his head back to her shoulder.

In that moment she was struck by the realization that somehow, somewhere during their journey, he had begun to trust her. This was truly remarkable in light of Christine's betrayal only hours before. How had she managed to earn his trust without really trying? Was it because he sensed her respect for him, as well as the fact that in her eyes he was a man, not a monster?

She remembered warning Christine about Erik when Raoul began to show interest in her again. It was only a fortnight prior to the premiere, and their discussion had turned heated. She advised her not to ignore Erik's feelings, lecturing her on the differences between both men. Erik was a mature man, not a boy, yet he had not lived as other men had. Living in isolation provided him no guidelines for his behavior, and he wouldn't understand her teasing or the games people played in society. But her warnings had fallen on deaf ears, and now it was too late.

He was losing his battle to stay alert, and by the time they crested the ridge Meg knew she had to do something to keep him centered behind her. Wishing she had a shawl to tie them together, she remembered the satin cummerbund of his costume. Half turning to face him, she reached one hand into his waistband and unfastened it, ignoring his groan of protest. Unwinding one end, she wrapped it around her waist and fastened them within its circle, hoping her idea would work. Finally finished, she peered into the mist surrounding them and nearly shouted for joy. The final fork in the road came up before them, and she directing Prince off to the right, gaining the path that entered the deeper woods. They were swallowed up in the darkness yet her heart beat in anticipation. It didn't matter that only a few hours remained until dawn, she was confident she would find the help she needed.

Climbing another 50 meters the path leveled out and ended at a densely overgrown gate. She reined Prince to a stop, reaching an arm behind her to steady Erik's unmoving form. Taking a moment to listen, she whistled the signal and immediately heard the answering whistle. The bushes rustled as someone stepped out from their cover.

"State your business."

"Mlle. Giry, and a friend," she called quietly. "We've come for your help."

Another man appeared at his side and together they approached Prince, one going to each side to study them.

"Is this how you treat all your suitors—drugging them to earn their cooperation?"

"Benjamin! This is no time for joking," she hissed in a whisper. "He's been hurt, stabbed in the left leg."

Ben gently touched the bloodied and stiff material, looking up. "You rode all that way tonight?"

"We had no choice," she complained. "He's already burning up with fever."

"Philippe, get my horse," Ben ordered. "I'll ride in with them and send someone back to take my place."

"All right," Philippe said quietly, heading back toward the gate.

Ben looked up. "Why are you riding double?"

She pulled Erik's arm to keep him from slipping sideways. "It's a long story."

"Did he come willingly, Meg?"

"Not exactly."

"How did he get stabbed?"

"Horse thieves were trying to steal Prince here."

"Did they follow you?"

She shook her head. "No—don't worry; no one followed us."

Phillipe came back with Ben's horse, already saddled. Ben mounted quickly and took Erik's arm. "I'll hold him from this side, so ride close."

Phillipe raised a hand as they moved through the gate. "See you tomorrow."

Meg glanced toward Ben, unable to see him in the darkness. But she sensed his disapproval.

"I'm not impressed with your escort," he finally said. "How could he let you get any where near horse thieves, then ride all night long?"

"He didn't—we fought about it most of the way here," she explained, trying to keep Prince close to Ben's horse. "He almost left me in a border village bit we couldn't find a hire to bring me back to Paris."

"I don't understand why he brought you alone in the first place."

"It wasn't his choice—Maman and I tricked him, and he was furious about it."

Ben snorted. "I can imagine, knowing how clever you both are at manipulating."

"Manipulating? We had to get him away from Paris," she hissed. "He's been in a bad way for a long time now…well overdue for a change of scenery."

"Well this is the certainly the place for that," Ben quipped as they halted before the main building. The upper windows were dark but the first floor was dimly lit. Ben dismounted and looked up. "Hang on a little longer—I'll be back with help."

She watched him go through the heavy oak doors, Erik's full weight pressing along her aching back. Her bottom felt numb from riding so long, but she couldn't imagine how Erik felt. Thankfully he was oblivious to his pain, at least at the moment. When the door opened and Ben came back with a stretcher, he brought a very large man with him, followed by Pieter's lanky gait.

"Pieter! I'm so glad to see you!" she breathed, watching the men unfold the stretcher between them before they placed it on the floor of the porch.

"I didn't think you'd be here until tomorrow," he answered, moving his attention back to Erik's slumped form.

The large man came up her and nodded, taking Erik's arm. "I'm Isaac," he said. "Let me take him down."

Isaac was a huge man, heavily muscled, and dark skinned. She nodded, sliding her arm from Erik's waist. "Thank you…careful…"

Placing strong forearms around Erik's chest, he eased him backward as Ben carefully guided his legs over Prince's back. Together they carried him to the stretcher, allowing Meg the chance to take Pieter's hand and slide from the saddle. He kept her elbow as she nearly stumbled, trying to balance on her own stiff legs. "Good boy," she cooed to Prince, watching Pieter take his reins and tie them to the post. Then he stepped up onto the porch and knelt at Erik's side. She watched them examine him, grateful for their help and the soft golden light that fell over them like a warm blanket. Pieter laid a hand on Erik's brow and looked up.

"He's burning with fever—we must get him inside fast."

Ben and Isaac lifted the stretcher and they followed them into the foyer. Pieter put a hand on her arm, detaining her. She looked up into his worried expression.

"What happened to his face?" he asked quietly.

She told herself the tears welling up in her eyes were from exhaustion and relief, nothing more. "He was born that way—didn't Maman mention it in her letter?"

He nodded. "Briefly—but now that I see the extent of his deformity I think I understand the situation more clearly...now as for his leg, how was he injured and more importantly how did he ever manage the ride?"

She rubbed her arms feeling suddenly cold again. "It's been a horrible night, for both of us. He was leaving Paris but when he got to the stables thieves were trying to steal his horse. He fought them off and we almost got away, but one of them pulled a knife and stabbed him." Shaking her head in disbelief, she shuddered. "I don't know how he managed the pain; I finally used a makeshift tourniquet just above the wound, but it still bled quite a lot."

He nodded, leading her into the infirmary, a large, well lit room that was pleasantly warm. Meg had heard about before but never had seen it. Erik lay upon an examining table with his upper body covered by a wool blanket. She watched Isaac finish pulling off Erik's boots as Ben spoke to him.

"Do you mind taking my place at the gate a bit earlier, Isaac? I left Phillipe alone out there."

Isaac nodded. "Not at all—I'll take the horse to the stables on the way."

"Thank you," Meg said, glad that Prince would be cared for and settled for some rest. She looked back down at Erik's face, trying not to be alarmed by his pallor. Pieter was washing his hands at the sink but she couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from Erik's face. He lay with his head turned to the right, apparently oblivious to what was being said. The strong muscles and veins of his neck belied his pallor. She resisted the urge to smooth the dark hair back from where it fell across his temple. The left side of his face was perfectly formed, its masculine beauty beckoning her touch. She could see the dark shadow of his beard already coming in from the last time he must have shaved.

The sound of fabric being cut distracted her, and she saw Ben separate the leg of his pants high up on his thigh. He looked up, stopping what he was doing.

"You should change into something dry," he advised, nodding toward Erik's face. "We'll take good care of him."

She nodded but directed her eyes back to his face. "He wouldn't even stop and let me bind the wound; he only thought of my safety, and how he could get me to go back to Paris."

Pieter came to Ben's side and they studied the wound, their intense scrutiny making her glance back toward his leg. Her stomach lurched at the sight of his badly bruised and swollen leg. Two deep gashes cut into the side of his thigh, as if the knife had gone through one side and come out the other. They spoke quietly to each other as they began to clean the wound, making her snap her attention back to Erik's face. Somehow, despite the bright light that revealed only part of his deformity to her line of sight made it seem completely irrelevant.

"Your mother insisted we keep his identity a secret," Pieter said as he worked. Meg looked over at him, biting her lip. "But if he's in as much trouble as I sense he is, then we need to discuss certain things when he comes to his senses."

She met Ben's gaze, feeling a little uneasy. "He worried they would be coming after us," she began. "He kidnapped a woman and her fiancé and set off a fire at the opera house, but it wasn't intentional."

After a moment of silence, she heard Pieter's voice again. "Whatever made him do that? I thought he was, in a sense, the one who made the opera the success it was, at least according to Louise."

She looked back at Erik, shaking her head. "He was deeply in love with her, but she engaged herself to another man. Together they set a trap for him, and betrayed and humiliated him in public...tonight was to be the premiere of his first opera, but he assumed the lead role just to be near her and make one more appeal to her affections. She flirted with him and led him to believe he had hope, but then she pulled off his mask and let everyone see his face. Before tonight he has always hidden himself and lived alone, apart from everyone. And he has always worn a mask to hide his face."

Pieter glanced toward Erik's face, interrupting his suturing of the wound. "Why would she want to humiliate him, in public?"

"He did not want to give her up," Meg sighed, shaking her head. "They must have thought the only way to stop him from interfering was to find a way to force him to leave."

Pieter looked back to his stitching, Ben in eager attendance. "Then it worked."

"Yes," she breathed. "It worked, but Maman and I did not want him to disappear without knowing where he would go. So I followed him."

Pieter looked up. "He will probably be in trouble with the authorities, and now you have helped him."

"It was a crime of passion," she defended, shifting her attention to the sewing. "Is he in much pain?" she had to ask, holding a hand to her stomach.

"I doubt he is feeling anything," Pieter explained, glancing up at her. "We will treat the infection and the pain, and pray he recovers."

She nodded, waiting until the two rows of black stitches were finally knotted. Watching Ben soak the stitching with a dark brown liquid, she handed Pieter the roll of bandaging he asked her to get.

"Can you stay with him until morning, Ben?"

Ben nodded. "Of course, but I'll need help changing him and getting him settled."

Pieter turned to the washbasin to clean his hands. "That's fine, but then I must call it a night. I'll come down to relieve you in the morning."

"Give him something for pain as well," he told Ben. "And tie him down if he thrashes—I don't want to risk anything opening those stitches."

Meg remembered the wet bag she'd hung up, thinking of the mask. "What if he wakes up?"

"He won't, at least not completely," Ben told her. "So you can get changed and try to rest. Come back in the morning."

"And Dr. Arnand will be here tomorrow as well," Pieter added, drying his hands. "I want him to take a look at his face—skin is one of his specialties."

She shook her head. "I really don't want to leave him," she protested. "He doesn't know either of you."

Pieter smiled. "I understand your concern, but he'll need you more after a few days, when he comes back to his senses."

She reached for the bag then, lifting the flap and pulling out the white mask. This she laid on the table at her side.

"Put this within his reach…just in case he wants it."

Pieter and Ben exchanged a look. "We will," Ben assured her.

She motioned to his bag. "These are the things Maman and I packed for him."

Ben kept his attention on wrapping the wound. She sensed Pieter waiting for hers, and breathed a silent prayer for the patient. Then she followed Pieter out of the room.

"He's in good hands, Marguerite," he said quietly, walking her toward the corridor that led to the women's wing. "Now go get some sleep—I'll send Arlene to see you at the infirmary after breakfast…she'll be so happy to see you."

"I feel the same way," she smiled, moving toward the corridor. It would be good to get into some dry clothes, she decided as a tiny shiver shook her. She raised a hand to Pieter and turned toward her old room, hearing his voice as he and Ben finished working on Erik and getting him settled for the night as well.

c. 2007 by Christine Levitt


	5. Chapter 5 Picking Up the Pieces

Chapter 5 – Picking Up the Pieces

_**PREMIERE DISRUPTED - OPERA HOUSE BURNS**_

_The Opera Populaire's eagerly anticipated premiere of a new opera entitled "Don Juan Triumphant" was cut short last night when fire swept through the opulent theatre, causing extensive damage and bringing to an end the current opera season. The fire resulted from an act of vandalism by one of the performers and resulted in the death of lead tenor Piangi as well as the kidnapping of soprano Mlle. Christine Daae ad her fiancé opera patron Count Raoul de Chagny, both of whom were later released by the suspect. The search for the suspect continues as investigators unravel the increasingly complicated triangle of love which seems to have caused the rivalry which set into motion these events. The suspect composed the night's opera entitled "Don Juan Triumphant" which shocked opera guests with its dark and seductive tale of a bitterly sadistic Don Juan. Halfway through the opera the suspect, also rumored to be the infamous "phantom of the opera," assumed the lead role himself after allegedly assaulting Mon. Piangi who was later found dead backstage; the cause of death is under investigation. During the performance Mlle. Daae unmasked the suspect to reveal his grotesque facial deformity, after which he cut the support rope of the theatre's famous crystal chandelier, bringing it crashing down into the audience and igniting the fire. Neither Mlle. Daae nor Count de Chagny have been available for comment but will be questioned by police. The suspect remains at large and is reported to be above average height with an athletic build. He has black hair and is clean shaven but suffers severe deformity of the right side of his face. His age is estimated to be between 20-30 years and he is considered extremely dangerous. Anyone matching this description must be reported to police; a substantial reward is being offered for his capture alive. _

Madame Giry lowered the newspaper, her mind in turmoil as she looked across the dining room table at her friend and host. Momentarily speechless, she could only stare at him in desperation.

Dr. Jean Hommes set down his cup of morning coffee as he held her gaze. "Well, is it accurate?"

She nodded. "For the most part," she shuddered, carefully refolding his paper. "There is a reward for his capture...a 'substantial' reward."

Jean sighed in regret. "That is to be expected; dead or alive?"

"Alive, thankfully." Louise looked down at the patterned lace tablecloth, slowly shaking her head. "If only I could have done something to prevent this," she thought aloud. "But I never would have imagined him destroying the opera house."

Jean leaned back into his chair, watching her steadily. "From what I witnessed last night, and from what you have told me, I doubt anyone could have stopped it—but I have seen worse in patients with lesser deformity."

She looked up. "His deformity isn't the only concern, Jean."

"I realize that now."

"What could Christine have been thinking, to scorn and humiliate him in public?"

"It is clear she underestimated him, as we all did…but Louise, aren't you concerned about Meg?"

Finally settling back in her chair, she shook her head. "Marguerite is the only one who might be able to reach him now—but he will not harm her."

Jean laid a finger along his temple. "What makes you think he will accept anyone's help?"

"He's angry but no fool, Jean—I would have gone myself if I thought I could help."

"But why would he listen to Meg more than to you, whom he has known far longer?"

"He was the one who saved her life that night in the alley," she said confidently. "It changed both of them forever."

Jean exhaled a deep breath. "I know that's true from her perspective, but the man's had his heart broken, and very possibly his spirit."

"She will take his mind off his own troubles, and leaving here should do him a world of good."

Jean pushed back his chair and got up. "Well, feel free to stay with us as long as you like—and that includes Meg, when she returns."

"It may take quite some time to restore the opera house," she said. "I do not wish to impose—"

"It is no imposition!" he assured her, bending close with his eyes on the staircase. "And if at all possible, have her bring him here as well."

"What, here?" she whispered back, her glance darting toward the upstairs. "What about Rosalie?"

"I will convince her in the meantime—you know how long I've wanted to examine and treat him!"

"But we have been through this before, Jean—he took offense and refused."

"That was years ago!" he whispered in protest. "Medicine has advanced tremendously since then, and I can offer him so much more now."

"I doubt he listen, especially now," Louise worried. "And don't forget how much of a risk that would entail for him, and for you."

"What better way to hide from the authorities and reward hungry mob, than to acquire a new face?"

Louise stared at him in shock. "You're serious!"

"I am, and I would risk doing his surgery."

"Do you know what you're saying?"

"The man has suffered enough and I wish to help him."

"If he wouldn't allow it before he certainly won't now!" she insisted. "Destroying the opera which he built and mastered means that he has given up!"

"All I saw was a fit of passion and rage," Jean elaborated. "At least convey my offer to him. Leave the choice to him, Louise."

"I don't know—"

"Let him know that I will treat him in strictest confidentiality; no one need know about it."

She shook her head. "It's too soon—first we must give him time, as well as a safe place to get away and to think."

Jean's expression brightened considerably. "I just remembered something—where did you say the parish is located?"

"In the mountains, just over the border to the east—why?"

"I have an idea how I might see him without attracting any attention."

"Jean, really you are assuming too much—"

"I must speak at a medical convention in Brussels in a few weeks," he whispered excitedly. "It would be the perfect place to meet. Physicians and patients come from all over the world…"

She stared at him at length. "You are very intent upon this, aren't you?"

Jean nodded. "I saw his face, and even more importantly, I heard his voice and his music. I find it completely unacceptable that a man with such gifts has been forced to live as an outcast, especially when one or two surgeries could offer him a place in society."

"It will take more than a change in his appearance to do that, Jean," she informed him. "He's very bitter, and for good reason."

"Compared to other patients he has shown remarkable restraint, Louise. Most become violent and dangerous, to others and to themselves. I have never seen one build an entire world for himself, compose music and run an entire opera company from a dungeon! The man is extraordinary!"

She winced. "I keep seeing Piangi with that noose around his neck, not to mention Buquet."

"Based upon my examination the noose did very little damage; it was obviously a prank, which I clearly indicated to the captain."

"Then how did Piangi die?"

"His heart no doubt; and the blow to his head would have only rendered him momentarily senseless," he informed her. "It was obvious your Erik did not intend to cause his death…but we discussed all this last night, Louise."

"I know, and I'm sorry," she said, getting up and walking toward the window. She parted the curtains and gazed out, seeing little. "What do you think really happened to him, Jean," she asked, turning to look at him. "A man's opinion?"

He came toward her and looked out, sighing tiredly. "He exhibited all the signs of an emotional breakdown, in my opinion."

"Then you don't believe he has lost his mind?"

"Perhaps only temporarily," he answered, glancing at her. "If he truly lost his mind he would never have released Christine, or the man who stole her from his grasp, and both were unharmed. That speaks volumes in his favor and will weigh heavily in his favor with the Inspector."

"I hope you're right," she sighed, putting a hand to her head. "He can be such a wonderful man; if only others could see him as I do."

"Somehow I have a feeling it will all work out," he said encouragingly. "And my surgery would not hurt."

"I haven't your faith, but Meg does, as do those at the parish," she replied, looking back out the window. "Hopefully the combination will have some affect."

"Well, I must be off to check on my patients," he stated. "Rosalie will be down soon—you can put your heads together and think of a way to get him to Brussels."

She looked at him and nodded, dropping the curtain. "You really think you can help him, Jean?"

"I do—by the way, when do you meet with the police?"

"At 11 o'clock, but it mostly concerns the damage to the opera," she sighed. "I hope they don't have too many questions for me—and certainly none about the phantom. Knowing the managers, they will effectively center the discussion upon their losses."

"None of them have any idea of your importance," he chuckled. "Perhaps with a little acting you can convince them to overlook you completely."

"Thankfully their interest is primarily financial," she huffed. "Erik knew that and took full advantage of it. God only knows what will become of it without him."

Jean walked her back to the table. "I intend to do a little fundraising of my own," he told her. "And many of my colleagues are opera connoisseurs. We shall look into ways to help get the opera house back into business as soon as possible."

She nodded. "Whatever help you can offer will be greatly appreciated…for now, I just hope no one questions me about Meg's whereabouts, and his."

"I am sure you will find a way to be sufficiently vague."

"It would be a great relief to finally relate everything I know," she said wistfully. "For far too long Meg and I have been the only ones who truly know him. It might help his chances if the authorities were to discover the truth."

Jean reached for his hat and turned toward her. "Truth has a way of revealing itself with or without our help," he smiled, bowing his head. "You will have to tell me everything at dinner. Until then, adieu!"

At the sound of approaching footsteps Inspector Charles Leger glanced at the clock on the mantle in the de Chagny library. At his side Detective Gilbert cleared his throat and they looked at each other in frustration. They had been waiting nearly half an hour.

"Good morning, gentlemen," a voice called, snapping their attention to the young couple striding toward them. Both policemen noted the tight smile the count offered as well as the lovely but pale and nervous expression on the woman's face. They stopped abruptly but she kept her hand tucked inside his arm. "I am Raoul de Chagny, and this is my fiancée, Christine Daae," he introduced. "Please pardon the delay, Inspector Leger."

"Morning," Leger answered soberly, nodding toward his colleague. "This is Detective Gilbert...we regret the early hour, but I am sure you understand the importance of our meeting."

"Of course," Christine said demurely, removing her hand from Raoul's arm as she turned to sit down. Raoul motioned for them to take the facing chairs and sat when they did.

"I must say that we are eager to put this entire nightmare behind us," Raoul began, winding an arm over Christine's shoulders. "We hesitated to bring charges before, but it is obvious we can do so no longer."

"Whatever you tell us will be held in strictest confidence," Leger stated blandly, watching Gilbert take out his notebook and pencil.

"After a private ceremony this afternoon, we will be leaving for a much deserved holiday," Raoul announced, looking at Christine's profile. "A fortnight in London should take care of the problem."

Leger noted Christine's tension, but she said nothing. "You are getting married, today?"

"We feel it is necessary, under the circumstances," Raoul explained, hugging her shoulders. "It will offer Christine far greater protection and the legal benefit is an added bonus—"

"May I remind you that you are both involved in a criminal and civil case, " Leger objected. "I insist you remain in Paris until we have completed our investigation."

Raoul withdrew his arm from Christine's shoulders and leaned toward him. "Surely you realize how much we have suffered, Inspector—not only physically, but emotionally as well. My solicitor in London will stay in close contact with my father's counsel—"

"I must insist you stay at least until the suspect has been apprehended—"

"If he is apprehended!" Raoul laughed sarcastically. "If he is not, we will both be in danger as long as that man remains at large."

"We will find him, and protect you in the interim."

"We have hired our own protection, Inspector," Raoul said with a wave of his hand. "And please don't tell me that you would deny the newly wed their celebratory holiday."

"I insist you stay."

Raoul reached for Christine's hand, his frustration barely hidden by a tight smile. "Perhaps my father should speak to your superior," he threatened good naturedly. "We have many friends in high places who will no doubt sympathize."

"Whatever you feel you must do," Leger said stiffly, focusing his attention on Christine. "For the moment we will proceed with our meeting…now Mlle. Daae, perhaps you might begin with a summary of what happened last night."

She glanced worriedly at Raoul, then back. "Of course," she replied softly, swallowing nervously. "But you must know that he never harmed me, and I do believe he has great remorse for his actions of late."

Leger studied her carefully. "He did kidnap you from the stage, did he not?"

She nodded. "Yes, but—"

"He bound me and put a noose around my neck," Raoul interrupted. "He threatened to kill me if she did not do as he wished."

"And that was?"

"Choose him over me!"

Leger glanced at Gilbert who looked up from his notepad. "We are getting ahead of ourselves, I fear," he stated, looking back at Christine. "First of all I would like the man's name, followed by any indication he might have shared about his plans or where he might go."

Raoul turned toward Christine expectantly, finding her expression blank. "His name?" she squeaked. "But I don't know his name—everyone called him the phantom of the opera, or the opera ghost."

Gilbert's quiet chuckle went ignored as Leger stared at her meaningfully. "I am interested in what you called him, Mlle. Daae, given the fact that you two seemed to have a close relationship." As she hesitated, Raoul shifted uncomfortably.

"He signs his notes that way," he insisted. "I have one in my desk if you care to see it—signed O.G., for Opera Ghost."

Leger looked over at him. "I would like to see it," he replied, watching Raoul get up and go to his desk. He eyed Christine again, unsure of her ability to handle the questioning. "Correct me if I am wrong, but are you saying that in your private conversations you addressed him in that manner?"

Christine bit her lip. "Well, no…"

"What did you call him, when face to face, Mlle. Daae?"

"Well he did wear a mask," she said, her voice trailing off and her eyes avoiding his.

Leger pressed further. "What did you call him, when you were alone with him?"

Christine toyed with her fingers without looking up. "Angel," she answered softly.

Noting a stiffening in Raoul's posture, Leger eyed Christine intently. "Pardon?"

"Angel," she repeated, facing his stare. "I called him Angel, or sometimes Angel of Music."

Leger raised a brow. "That seems strangely endearing, calling a man you say harassed you for weeks and kidnapped you forcibly from the stage by that name."

She looked offended. "We called each other Angel—it was a name given him by my father, who sent him to protect me—he has been my guardian and angel ever since I was a child."

"But surely the man has a Christian name."

"I never knew his name!"

"Yet you state you have known him since childhood."

"It was obviously meant in jest," Raoul objected, coming toward him with the note. He sat back down next to Christine and waited while Leger read it.

Nearly laughing at the obvious sarcasm of its contents, Leger decided the man's self appointed title clearly used tongue in cheek, holding Mlle. Daae under his wing or some sort of nonsense. He looked up at Raoul. "Clever chap, isn't he?"

Raoul hardened his expression. "That Inspector It obviously a threat directed toward me to keep me away from her."

"A threat from an angel—or rather a ghost?" Leger quipped. "It seems more of a jealous rivalry than a threat."

"The man was clearly obsessed with her!" Raoul insisted, moving to the edge of the sofa. "His plan was that she marry him, become his prisoner and live in those catacombs with him! I would classify it as insane and dangerous, Inspector!"

Leger shifted his attention back to Christine. "Perhaps you could tell me about the first time you saw him…how he introduced himself to you."

Christine folded her hands in her lap. "For years he was just a voice, albeit a compellingly beautiful voice," she began, glancing at Raoul. "I believed that my father sent him from heaven to watch over me, a guardian angel; that was why I called him Angel. There was no need to see him."

"How convenient for him," Raoul said under his breath.

"But how could he speak to you yet remain hidden, if he was only a man?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "But he is very good at it."

Leger glanced at Gilbert, who looked up. "What about your lessons, and do you credit his instruction as bring you recent success?"

"Yes, of course," she said, brightening. "He even successfully championed me against the prima donna, Carlotta. For that I will always be grateful to him."

"Could you describe your lessons, how long they were, where they were held, and how much payment he required?"

Christine looked surprised. "He never asked for payment, not once in all these years."

"No payment of any kind, or exchange for services or favors?"

"Inspector! How can you even suggest—"

Leger held up a hand to Raoul, watching Christine carefully.

"No, of course not!" she insisted. "We were both completely devoted to the music! He was a very strict and demanding teacher, you must know. Each lesson lasted an hour if I was in good voice, longer if not. We met every Monday just after lights out. I would walk onto the stage and he would be waiting for me at the piano, in the orchestra pit. The stage lights were on me, so I couldn't see him. He would accompany me as I sang, interrupting to correct or encourage me. When we were finished he would wait until I left, then follow some distance behind me to make sure I reached my room safely. But he was always in the shadows."

"Lessons in the dark, alone with him at night," Leger mused, "…you weren't afraid of him?"

"Only if he became angry and impatient—but he would always recover quickly and apologize," she stated. "He often said I had great promise as a soprano, and that I was special because of my belief in angels. I trusted him completely, even though I could never see more than his shadow."

"I find that remarkable," Leger stated. "He kept his distance, never coming close or touching you in any way—"

"He would never do that!" she choked. "He is a great teacher, and I was honored to be his student! His behavior was that of the noblest gentleman."

"I see," Leger mused. "So when did you first see his face, or know that he was masked?"

"It was the night of my debut, only weeks ago."

"Why do you believe he finally chose to reveal himself, after so many years?"

"To celebrate my debut, of course," she said, obviously insulted.

"Could it have had anything to do with his jealousy of your friendship with the count?"

"Of course it did!" Raoul burst in. "He was jealous because he fell in love with her and wanted her all to himself, and thought nothing of taking advantage of her innocent trust!"

Christine glared at Raoul before turning to Leger as if for mercy. "He was not always that way! But now that I think of it, everything changed when Raoul asked me to dinner that night."

"Please, go back to the moment you first saw him," Leger asked.

"I had changed into my dressing gown when I heard his voice in my room," she began. "He was angry about Raoul's plans to go out, and I apologized. It was our special night, after working so hard together for so many years. He told me to look in my mirror, and there I saw his reflection. I was surprised by the mask, and by the fact that he looked much younger than I had imagined. He invited me out himself, and took me far below the opera house to his quarters. I was very curious and it seemed a great adventure."

"Could you describe him in more detail?"

She smoothed her skirts carefully, her attention upon her hands. "He was impressive in appearance, except for the white mask that covered one side of his face."

"Why do you say impressive, and which side of his face was masked?"

"The right side," she answered, looking up. "The other side was perfectly normal, very handsome in fact…he was clean shaven, with long sideburns. His hair was very dark and straight, held back in a queue. In his chin is a very slight cleft, but his eyes are his most compelling feature."

"Why do you say that?"

"They are very expressive, and their color is—I am not sure if it is green or grey, or perhaps blue-grey. His attire is always impeccable and formal, like a nobleman's. He always wears black leather gloves, except of course when playing an instrument. His is rather given to emotion yet his manners are refined—"

"Except for his temper," Raoul complained.

Leger stared at Christine's far away expression wondering if she could be as naïve as she seemed. What gentleman would follow a young woman's every move, observe her in her bedroom and lead her unescorted to his bachelor quarters far from the realm of the familiar? "Then you found him to be attractive," he finally summarized, watching her guilty glance dart toward Raoul and settle on her hands.

"He is not unattractive," she admitted softly. "But it is his voice which is the most compelling. If you could hear him sing, especially the way he did last night—he had the audience and all of us quite enthralled."

"Well the spell was soon broken," Raoul stated blandly, looking away.

Leger looked at Christine."Would you be able to find your way back to his quarters, if given the opportunity?"

"No, I am afraid not, unless I could find the way back to the canal," she stated. "Raoul and I were so distraught we didn't take note of the route. Once we reached the stairs we just followed the sound of the crowd, but it took quite some time to find our way up."

"It was a one-way route, judging by all the spring loaded trap doors," Raoul interjected. "I tried one after it closed behind us—it could not be moved from the opposite side. Perhaps now you understand why I refer to his underground world as a prison."

Leger nodded. "Did he say why he brought you there last night," he asked Christine.

She nodded. "He said there was only one purpose—he needed me to sing his music. But when I saw the mannequin which looked like me, wearing a bridal gown and veil, I was overcome with shock. I must have fainted, for I cannot remember anything between that moment and when I woke up in his bed."

Raoul stiffened as Gilbert stopped writing and glanced up.

Leger softened his tone considerably. "And when you awoke, where was your teacher?"

"At his organ, playing a soft and beautiful song..I went to him and sang along, and then I felt close to him again. I sensed his desire to show me his face, to share that as well. I was a bit frightened but secretly thrilled as well, not to mention very curious. When I touched his cheek his eyes closed and he smiled, and I realized he had never felt a human touch before. This encouraged me to remove his mask quiet suddenly, which was a grave mistake. I sincerely believed he had wanted me to do it, but when I screamed he became very angry. He said I had ruined everything and that I could never be free. Then, regretting his anger he said perhaps I could learn to love him anyway, despite his deformity. He began to weep, and I wept with him. I gave him back his mask, and he put it in place and told me we had to leave. His concern was that people would miss me and worry. He took me back, then left my side without a word."

"But he never touched you at all?"

She closed her eyes in frustration. "I didn't say that…" she admitted. "When we sang to me he took me in his arms, as any couple would do when on stage." She opened her eyes. "I realize now that it was meant to woo me, and he even proposed marriage to me not long afterward."

"Marriage?"

She nodded. "He said that if I could not manage a marriage that was more than in name only he would accept that. Companionship and music were more important to him, I think. Yet even the prospect of living down there, as he lived…I declined and attempted to return his ring but he would not accept it. We only discussed it once, and though he told me to think about it I never answered. I had assumed the matter was settled."

Leger put a finger to his temple. "Correct me if I am wrong, but this man whom you call your angel of music, your teacher and mentor, asked you to marry him, and you did not accept."

"Yes, that is correct."

"And he is, by your description, a young man in the prime of his life. One who has lived in forced isolation all his adult life, with only you to stave off his loneliness. He also devoted himself to making your success his only concern, yet he never asked for anything in return until this proposal.'

Tears filled her eyes. "I could never marry him and live as he does, and the matter of his proposal was never brought up again! Yet even after he knew Raoul and I were engaged he kept fighting for me!"

"You had no feelings for him, as a man?"

"Yes, compassion and friendship, but that was all!"

Leger noted the blush that crept into her cheeks as she looked away, not convinced that she knew her own feelings. "Do you still have his ring?"

She nodded. "In my dressing room, where I hid it in the top drawer of my wardrobe."

"I will need to take that as evidence; could you describe it to us?"

Christine glanced toward Raoul, who kept his gaze averted. "It is a plain gold band."

Leger sighed greatly. "What in essence happened last night, Mlle. Daae?"

Christine looked up. "His personality changed—I could see it in his eyes. He began trying to get me alone with him and away from Raoul. We became convinced that the only way to stop him was to expose him in public, and we suspected he would try again at the premiere. When he took over the lead role it was to get close to me and woo me away from Raoul. I pulled off his mask to scare him away, but he grabbed me and took me with him back down to his world, this time like a prisoner."

Leger looked at Raoul. "So you followed them."

"I had to—if I did not I knew I would never see her again, but he trapped me and tied me up with a noose around my neck. He forced her to choose between us, saying that if she did not choose him he would kill me, and of course we believed him."

"I had to make him believe I chose him, to save Raoul's life," she continued. "I couldn't let him kill Raoul!"

"So you believed he would kill Raoul right in front of you?" Leger had to ask. "How would that impress you enough to choose him?"

Christine put both hands to her head. "I don't know what he was thinking—I was just so afraid for Raoul so I went to him and kissed him! It was the only way I could hope to convince him that I chose him, and I hoped that once he let Raoul go I could somehow manage to get away from him."

"And did you convince him, after fighting him for so long?"

She blushed and looked down at her hands. "I must have, for he let Raoul go."

"He made me watch, and unfortunately one kiss was apparently not enough—"

"Raoul please!" Christine choked, her eyes full of tears. "I had to do it, and you know that!"

"What did he do next?" Leger insisted.

Christine shrugged. "He was so shocked he just stood there staring at me; I thought he was testing me so I kissed him again! But when he started to weep it broke my heart. He was remorseful, and he told us to go, to take the boat and forget him. To tell no one about him."

Clearly a case of gross misunderstanding on everyone's part, Leger concluded. Whatever crimes had been committed had been done in the heat of passion. It was obvious that the man saw Christine as his only chance for happiness, yet she had rejected him.

"Did he say what he would do, or where he would go?"

"No, but I am sure it is far away from here," Christine said quietly. Raoul shook his head no.

"I understand how difficult all this has been," Leger explained. "We must be going, but I have decided to let you leave for London provided you remain in contact with my office. Once we bring him to our headquarters, however, you will need to come in for the proceedings."

Gilbert opened his portfolio and pulled out a document. "First we need your signatures—just a formality—it is to register charges against him."

Christine looked confused. "Is that necessary?"

"That's fine," Raoul nodded, reaching for a sheet.

Christine stiffened and got up. "No, it's not fine," she told him, turning to Leger. "I will not bring any charges against him."

Raoul stared at her a moment in obvious disbelief. "If we do not he cannot be prosecuted."

"That is true," Leger agreed. "Otherwise the kidnapping and threats will not stand in court."

Christine hugged herself, shivering with emotion. "I won't sign or testify against him—I owe him that much."

Raoul put his hands on her shoulders. "If he is allowed to go free he will come after you again."

"No, he won't," she insisted, dropping her arms to her sides. "You saw how broken he was—how could I live with myself if he were to go to prison?"

"But he must pay for all he's done to us, and to the opera house!" Raoul protested, looking at Leger. "Inspector, please—he cut the ropes on the chandelier on purpose! It was a priceless piece of art, and is now in ruins. That was what started the fire!"

Leger shrugged. "His behavior would be classified under acts of passion I am afraid, unless we can prove they were premeditated."

Christine shook her head. "He would never have planned to destroy the opera house; he just wanted to make one more appeal for my affection. If I hadn't unmasked him in public he never would have reacted the way he did, I am sure of it. I only hope that someday he can forgive me."

Raoul stared at her in amazement as Leger placed the papers on the table. "Think about it, both of you. If you do sign them it will definitely lead to a trial."

Raoul looked at him n surprise. "A trial? I hadn't thought of that."

"And if this does goes to trial the city will be in an uproar," he informed them. "We have already received hundreds of letters of support for him, yet the mob wishes to see him punished."

"How could anyone support him—he's a madman!" Raoul shouted.

"Those are the facts, Count de Chagny—if you sign you must be prepared for an extensive and complicated trial; it might be quite some time before you enjoy a normal life."

Christine gripped Raoul's arms, a pleading look on her face. "Please, Raoul, let it end! Once he knows we're married he will leave us alone…please, don't sign."

He took a moment to study her face. "You really believe he would respect our marriage?"

"Yes—I know him well enough to be sure of it."

He sighed, then nodded. "All right, if you're sure about that. I will not press charges, Inspector; the cost is too high for both of us, as well as for our families."

Christine relaxed visibly and put a hand on his arm. "Thank you."

"Very well, if that is your choice, I respect it," Leger nodded. "Let's just hope everyone learns their lesson," he said, turning to leave. "And by the way, congratulations."

As they descended the stairs outside Gilbert drew near, speaking only to his hearing. "I feel sorry for the Opera Ghost," he admitted. "If I were in his place I think I would do the same thing."

Leger laughed despite his aching head. "I know what you mean, but let's try to keep that to ourselves."

"No judge I know will want this to go to trial," Gilbert added. "What a complicated mess."

"There won't even be a hearing if we don't find the man—let's hurry; we're late for our meeting with the managers."

"I for one am looking forward to hearing his side of the story," Gilbert admitted, "having never met or questioned a real ghost before."

Leger grimaced as they crossed the avenue and started in the direction of the opera house. "If we do find him I hope he will cooperate and thus spare us from looking like complete fools and wasting the judge's time."

"That is entirely up to him."

"Well, let's hear the other side of the story," Leger complained. "The money side."

"Not my favorite either," Gilbert agreed, shaking his head in frustration. "How many managers have they seen come and go?"

"More than you can count on one hand," Leger sighed. "Which convinces me that we cannot afford to underestimate this man, ghost or not."

c. 2007 by Christine Levitt


	6. Chapter 6 The Vision

Chapter 6 – The Vision

Erik dreamt for the first time in many months, his sleep fitful. Shadows and whispers surrounded him, weaving in and out of his dreams. Unable to separate reality from dream, he flinched away from the slightest touch, unfamiliar with that most basic and human form of communication. When it was withdrawn each time he felt relief yet strangely bereft, alone in his sufferings. Nevertheless, he was aware of being watched and tended with a surprising diligence that even his struggles against contact would not be dissuaded. He had no idea who they were or where he was, neither did he realize how his struggles grew weaker. Burning fevers and shaking chills gripped and tortured him, generated from deep within his wound. Waves of delirium weakened him and drew him farther and farther away from the reach of that nameless and faceless company of souls until he was aware of only one who remained steadfast by his side.

Her scent and her whispers were female, yet strangely familiar. As his mind and soul traveled through lonely and black landscapes she would rescue him quite unexpectedly. Her presence and the cool moist fabric laid gently over the ruined side of his face were his only comfort. Her fingertips sculped his masks, yet he only knew her as the guardian of his deformity. In that position she forced him to trust her, to let her come close enough to whisper into his ear and subdue his struggles. The soft brush of her hair would whisper over his bare shoulder or chest, yet when he tried to open his eyes or answer her she would promptly vanish. His concentrated efforts to catch the hands that ministered to him failed as his strength lessened and his pain increased. It seemed as if she too drifted further and further from his reach, leaving him alone.

He began to sail swiftly over dark oceans, born unwillingly toward strange lands. There were evil places with unnamed threats that caused him to shiver with dread. Mocking whispers called to him like sirens, drawing him into the pull of their accusations before he would miraculously escape their clutches. He traveled seemingly without purpose or destination, surging with the tides and breaking free only to drift in mist and fog that swaddled and rocked him in the uncaring arms of the deep. Yet it seemed that only a nudge from an unseen hand could set him off again, this time to drift toward warmer climes of light and song. Enticed by the beauty of the music, he willed himself toward those good harbors only to pass them by despite his every effort to dock. The leaden skies gathered to look down upon him as dark and angry swells tugged him toward the storms. Threatening to pull him into their churning depths, he fought and thrashed against their grip, not realizing it was the bed linens he struggled against, only to reach for them again when chills shook his body with cold. Groaning and murmuring without a voice, he struggled against his given lot, longing for rest and relief but helpless to find either.

They bound his wrists and ankles to protect him from further injuring his leg or flinging himself to the floor, though in Erik's mind he fought huge flying demons and birds of prey. Illness held him unaware in its grip, keeping him prisoner as fever burned and rose to new heights until he was left hanging between light and darkness, one world he barely knew and another dark and unknown. Unable to move, he eventually lay still, slipping so far from sensation he did not know when his bonds were loosened and removed, setting him adrift one again. He was unaware of those that remained at his side, taking shifts to watch and intercede on his behalf. Despite his deathlike appearance they continued against all hope until the war for his soul was eventually won. Whispers of intercession were replaced with quiet psalms of thanksgiving which were undeterred by the fact that he lay unmoving, unaware of the shift in his favor.

Erik felt bound in a dense smothering fog, brooded over by a dark and patient presence. Its seething accusations whispered to him without mercy, waiting for him to deny or admit them. It occurred to him that it waited for him to choose his fate, and once he because aware of this the darkness intensified, coiling tighter around him and choking him. All the while the whispers declared the penalty he must face. It echoed through his thoughts, intending to drive him mad.

_You have sinned...you forfeited your life...give up._

His sins flitted by in shadows over the canvas of his closed eyes, taunting him and laughing at him. Anger, lust, violence, bitterness, unforgiveness… his sins were too numerous to count. Working together to pry loose his grip on life they easily defeated him, leaving him with only the desire to confess. Despite parched throat and cracked lips he admitted his sins in voiceless gasps, pleading for mercy and forgiveness. Perhaps someone would hear him and save him from his own well constructed destiny.

_All I ever wanted was to belong, to someone or something, _he pleaded weakly. _To have had purpose and meaning for my life...  
_  
Exhausted and tempted to let go, his breathing slowed and became more shallow. The reason for his birth still eluded him, its purpose unknown. He admitted to no hope or future, yet somehow in the dark recesses of memory something flickered, attracting his attention. Letters, then words began to form into a faint sketch of meaning. Though he grew weaker and weaker he began to hear different whispers of long ago sentences upon which he now focused his mind.

_Now the earth was unformed and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep; and the spirit of God hovered over the face of the waters. And God said: 'Let there be light'. And there was light...And God said: 'Let us make man in our image, after our likeness'.."  
_  
He did not know where they came from, but the words beckoned him. Directing all his attention to their meaning he felt something change. The coils of darkness begin to loosen, and before he realized it they evaporated. The dense fog cocooning him suddenly lifted and blew away. A cool breeze tickled his face like a gentle caress, and as the mists parted he was bathed in warmth and light that seeped over and throughout him like heated oil. His course changed abruptly as he moved toward the light. The waves gently lifted him and carried him along until he floated upon a crystalline river. Music whispered toward him, infusing him with strength. He began to distinguish a horizon toward the light, then a beam of color was upraised toward the azure sky. The light changed from gold to white, glistening and sparkling all around him. The waters carrying him glimmered like jewels as he was carried toward the distant sound of a waterfall. As he approached it he could hear a cacophony of sounds, whispers and soft cries of delight. Voices blended together in singing, joy and praise flowed toward him. He began to distinguish chords and notes that were unfamiliar, more beautiful than he could have imagined. Words of countless languages filled his mind, making his chest expand with excitement and anticipation. His strength increased as he floated under the arch of the rainbow as if entering a sacred boundary. _Where was this place?_

He began to hear another sound, like the whispering of his name. Listening intently and with disbelief, he swallowed in an effort to speak. Croaking out a response, he could not answer until he drew the cool air flowing around him into his lungs. Feeling even stronger, he had the sensation of being lifted to a sitting position as the music changed and vibrated around him. The atmosphere warmed and as the music drew together into one dominant and harmonious chord. It shook him with emotion, entering him and moving inside him until he exhaled in response. He began to sing one note, the music birthing a language which it planted deep within his chest.

His feet touched the bottom of the river, and bending toward the shore he began to swim toward it. He could see flowers and trees lining its banks, their colors beyond label or description. The beauty surrounding him was unlike any he'd ever seen. Slicing through the water with effortless strokes, he soon pulled himself up and out of the water. And then he saw a man standing their, looking in his direction. He had appeared suddenly, and Erik knew it was to welcome him. Slowing his steps, he stared into the dazzling light pulsing all around that one, finding it difficult to see him. Blinking against the oily warmth flooding his eyes, his vision cleared and his breath caught. Unsure of what he saw or how to react, he came to a halt as he studied the man's face, raising his hand to his own deformed cheek. Staring at him, Erik began to weep as the man waited.

Shaking with silent sobs, Erik dropped to his knees, still looking up at the man. His own hand fell to his side as he realized that what he beheld was hardly a face at all, so misshapen and distorted it was. As he wept quietly he began to see a change, and the man's eyes gradually appeared from the midst of a bloodied, misshaped mass of flesh. His eyes formed into perfect shape and alignment, and they were bright and fathomless. They spoke without words, whispering into Erik's mind and heart. They told him many things as he looked into their depths, things his mind could not grasp but his spirit did. Their message reverberated within him, its revelation astounding. He became aware of the pause in the music. Even the sound of the waterfall was held in check, as if all waited and watched. And he became aware of the man's grief, his suffering. Yet he was also keenly aware of the man's zeal for justice, coupled with his deep love for humanity. The realization caused fear and grief to twist withinside Erik until he could no longer bear to meet that fiery gaze. At the moment he dropped his head, Erik felt the man's thumb press into the center of his brow, placing an oily and fragrant seal of ownership upon him. Choking with emotion, Erik dropped his hand away from his distorted cheek. There was no hiding from this man, and he slumped forward, ashamed, weak and breathless. He shook his head and whispered over and over, confessing his sins with the knowledge that he had caused this man's suffering.

"Stand upright," a voice commanded. It was full of power yet disarmingly tender, and it echoed all around them.

Feeling his strength return, Erik lifted his head and surged to his feet, planting them upon the grassy bank. As he watched the man's face begin to change, slowly moving and straightening into proper balance. The blackened bruises began to fade. The deep cuts smoothed and healed before his eyes. All the while the man's eyes burned into his with intense love and acceptance. Erik tried to speak but was unable to, yet his efforts were rewarded when the man smiled broadly from a healthy, handsome face. The radiance of his countenance sent beams of light and color into the sky which were reflected as rainbows of color in his eyes. Erik was aware that he folded his arms across a broad chest, continuing to study him with curious intent.

For the first time Erik took note of the man's clothing. The dazzling white tunic he wore had long, loose sleeves. The neckline was unadorned and hung just below a thick collarbone. His neck was muscular, as were the arms beneath his tunic. The garmend ended at his knees, and white linen trousers reached to his ankles. His feet were bare, as was his head. The golden cummerbund around his waist gleamed and sparkled. His body exuded strength and vitality, and as Erik met his gaze again he saw the change in his eyes. Their colors darkened to reveal a myriad of emotions, the greatest being love and acceptance. Erik held his breath as he leaned closer and placed a hand over his heart. Something deep within him loosened its grip, leaving him with a sense of complete peace that flooded his chest and filtered throughout his entire body. The man's eyes smiled an Erik began to express his thanks. He pulled back, his gaze still holding Erik's as he planted his hands on his hips.

"What may I do for you?" he asked warmly, a tentative smile playing about his lips.

Erik swallowed hard, finding his voice. "Forgive me," he finally suggested, wondering if he had offended him as his gaze narrowed with concern.

The man then opened his mouth and sighed, and his breath entered Erik's lungs, filling them with life and sudden, intense joy. Laughter tickled up his throat and burst from his lips as he held the man's warming gaze. Falling back on his knees, Erik began to shout for joy in response. The man joined in his laughter, as the the entire creastion surrounding them. The waterfall surged with triumph, the voices sang in praise and birds called out in song. Erik closed his eyes and pursed his lips, nodding his head.

"I owe you my life," he told the man, "you have only to take it."

There was a long enough pause for Erik to open his eyes, and when he did the man threw back his head and laughed, raising his arms toward the heavens. The sounds around them exploded into praise and applause, yet Erik saw no one but the man before him. As he studied him in fascination, his own laughter eased and faded, leaving him strangely unburdened. At that moment the man stepped close and took his arm, helping him to his feet. As their eyes met Erik felt his hand clamp down upon his shoulder.

"I accept—," the man answered, a smile spreading across his handsome face. "Now, sing for me."

Immediately a song filled Erik, and he began to sing in an unknown language, surprising himself. There was no thought or plan initiated in composing the song, but rather the song led him. As he sang the man placed a hand on top of his head and began to prounounce a declaration of purpose, as far as he could understand. The language sounded ancient and foreigh, but Erik found he understood it. And he knew with certainty that he was being commissioned.

"I will do whatever you ask of me," he responded, hearing their surroundings quiet to the normal rush of breeze and water, beginning to fade. "Please, Sir," he gasped, noting the dulling of color and the warmth fading. The man's face blurred and dimmed before his eyes, then went dark.

"How are you feeling?" a voice echoed toward him.

Feeling suddenly exhausted and sick, Erik struggled to open his eyes. He became aware of lying on his back, arms limp at his sides. Pain sizzled and throbbed throughout his left leg, yet it felt strangely numb. Finally pulling his eyelids up, he stared toward the sound of the voice, trying to focus upon an entirely different face. The man leaning over him was considerably older, yet his face glowed with a peace that was identical to the one he had just witnessed moments before, on a much younger man's face. Then he remembered his own face and turned away. At his side a white mask was lying on the table next to his bed. Wanting to reach for it, he was reluctant to do so under the scrutiny of this stranger. As he searched his memory for clues to his whereabouts, he heard something being poured.

"Your fever finally broke yesterday," he was told. "Truly an answer to prayer."

Trying to moisten his cracked lips, Erik swallowed painfully, wondering how he could have felt so full of energy and health only moments before. It couldn't have been only a dream. It had been too real.

"Who are you?" he croaked, jolted by the strange sound of his own voice. "Where...am I?"

"The place Meg told you about…do you remember anything about your journey here?"

At the mention of her name Erik began to remember their encounter. She had followed him through the tunnels, warned him about the knife, and obviously brought him here. To the place with the doctor. He dared to turn his head a quarter of the way toward the man, focusing his eyes upon the ceiling. The last thing he remembered was trying not to slump against her as they rode upon Prince. But why was she not here. Did he imagine sensing her presence?

"She all right?" he rasped as a hand touched his shoulder.

"Yes, she's fine—you need to drink something."

He felt a glass rest upon his chest, trying to lift his head. Glancing down to see his foot upraised upon a pillow, he felt a wave of dizziness press him back down. Dropping his chin, he gasped in surprise.

"Take deep breaths—it will pass."

He followed instructions and within moments he was able to open his eyes and curl his fingers around the glass. It tipped toward him and was held as he let the cool liquid sluice over his cracked lips. It tasted somewhat bitter, causing him to stop.

"What's this?" he asked without turning toward the man.

"A draught of medication to help keep the pain at bay."

Pulling it closer Erik drank gratefully, yet found himself unable to finish even half the glass. It filled his insides so completel;y and suddenly that he wondered if he could keep the contents down. The glass was slid from his grasp as he lowered his head back to the high pillows behind him. "Thank you," he croaked, turning away a bit more and attempting to swallow again.

He heard a frustrated sigh before the glass touched down somewhere. "Don't worry about that mask—you won't be needing it here."

Weighing the meaning of those words, Erik stretched his hand over his face and slowly turned. As he did so he was struck by the difference that touch made. Beneath his fingertips the skin felt smoother and softer, foreign. Slowly tracing the surface of his cheek, he tried to envision what he was touching but could not do so.

"What happened to my face?" he gasped, feeling a wave of panic spread throughout his chest.

"Dr. Arnand concocted a special treatment for it," he was informed. "The effects are amazing, but you can discuss that with him later today when he arrives."

As the words began to register upon his foggy brain, Erik slowly lowered his hand and turned just enough to meet the man's gaze. He was smiling pleasantly, although he shook his head.

"I must say, you gave all of us quite a scare," he said. "We nearly lost you, your fevers were so high."

_I was lost_, Erik realized, summarizing his long journey into darkness. _And then I was sent back…_

"Do you remember anything?"

The muscles in his thigh cramped so suddenly and painfully that glanced down at the place where, beneath the blanket covering it, his leg was heavily bandaged. "Why can't I feel my leg?"

"The medication is working to mask the pain," the man told him. "Trust me, you'll be grateful for it each time it begins to fade and you can have another dose...I had to do quite a lot of stitching to close both sides, but you should make a full recovery, in time."

"You are the doctor Meg told me about."

"I was once, in the war--now I am retired."

Feeling overwhelmed, Erik found himself unable to respond.

"You lost a lot of blood and battled a tough infection," he was informed. "It will be some time before you can get up and about."

He scanned the small confines of the room, thinking it quite ordinary and sparsely furnished. "How long have I been here?"

"Eight days."

And no one had come after him in all that time? Where was Meg, he wondered as he studied the man's weathered face and intelligent eyes. He became aware of the fact that he owed this man a great debt for taking him in and caring for him. It was an unusual feeling which he didn't care for in the least. But he nodded to him in acknowledgement. "Thank you, sir...for taking me in."

"You are welcome--but forgive me," he answered, extending his hand. "My name is Pieter deGraaf."

Erik clasped his hand as firmly as he could manage, feeling inordinately weak. "Erik."

After pausing in expectation for a surname, Pieter merely shrugged. "Well, you've come a long way, Erik, apparently under great duress," he stated, sitting back in his chair. His eyes held Erik's but without accusation. Flinching under their regard, Erik only gripped and massaged his thigh muscles.

"Meg told me some of your story," he began. "But even before your arrival I received a request from her mother, asking for help for both of you. Though I am very curious to learn more, I have decided to respect your privacy and merely offer you a place to rest for as long as you need or wish."

Finding his hospitality suspect, Erik tightened his jaw. "Do you know what I've done?"

Pieter nodded. "Enough to worry about the consequences, and to state that should any inquiries be made by the authorities I will cooperate as I see fit."

Erik nodded. "That is more than fair."

"But you need not worry, for here you will have sanctuary, as would anyone in a similar situation. It is the nature of our philosophy here, one which I believe you will understand once you've been here a while."

"I cannot risk that nor stay," he told Pieter. "My only plan was to see Meg safety here, as well as have my injury tended."

Pieter chuckled, shaking his head. "She warned me that you would try to leave as soon as you woke up," he said. "But I must advise that you not underestimate your injury and take the time to recover. We are well experienced in dealing with the authorities, should they present themselves."

Erik winced at the pain shooting into his groin, shifting uncomfortably. "I don't understand."

"You are no longer in France, and we have a very different government here in Luxembourg."

Erik stretched back against the pillows, suddenly drained. His mind felt foggy and he fought to keep his eyes open, blaming the medication. Strangely at odds with his condition, he remembered feeling healthy and whole in the presence of the one he could only think of as his lord. Without knowing how or why, he was certain that he had not only dreamed but visited another world, and somehow he had been changed.

"In other words," Pieter added after a moment, "you don't have to run any more, Erik."

Forcing himself to look up, Erik finally focused his eyes on Pieter's expectant look. "Maybe not," he admitted. "But somehow I must try to right all the wrongs I have committed."

Pieter chose that moment to stand. "Good—" he agreed. "Now stop fighting the medication and get some rest. I'll let Meg know you woke up and that she can see you later."

Erik watched him go to the door, barely able to keep his eyes open. "Thank you—for everything."

Pieter smiled, one hand on the doorknob. "My pleasure."

Before Pieter stepped out Erik had already lost his battle to stay awake. Turning his face toward the wall, he sighed and gave himself up to the medication.

c. 2007 by Christine Levitt


	7. Chapter 7 A Friend In Need

_**Chapter 7 – A Friend in Need**_

"Erik…"

Slowly dragging open his eyes, he found her sitting before him. Focusing his gaze upon her face, he wondered how only a moment ago Pieter had sat in that very place and spoken of her, and now here she was. As he watched her expression brighten, he suddenly remembered his face was uncovered and turned away. Yet even as he stared at the wall, her presence affected him more than he had expected or could allow.

It had only taken a moment to drink in the warmth of her smile and marvel at the way the sunlight streaming in through the window highlighted gold and white threads in her hair. The scent of that subtle fragrance which was uniquely hers confirmed his suspicions that she had been at his side throughout his illness. Aside from her subtle beauty, just the way she said his name in that soft husky voice of hers unbalanced him, reaching down into his soul and stirring things better left buried and dormant. He chided himself for not anticipating her coming to his room, and for not placing the mask she had no doubt left within reach for his use.

"I'm still here, Erik," her soft voice complained.

He told himself that it was no use averting his face; she had already seen not only his face but probably more than he cared to admit, if indeed she had helped nurse him. Slowly turning his head just enough to meet her waiting gaze, he was surprised by the teasing light in her eyes. She had shifted to the edge of the chair and regarded him with a pleased expression. The warm brown depths of her eyes swallowed him up, leaving him uncharacteristically speechless.

"Well, aren't you going to say anything?"

"'Morning," he croaked, hating the raspiness of his voice. He swallowed, shifting his attention to the window. "Or is it afternoon?"

"Afternoon," she confirmed, "if it matters that much."

His eyes shot back to hers and held. It was difficult not to stare at her, for though hers was a familiar face it was also a remarkably lovely one, especially in the light of day and at close distance. Her skin was flawless and soft looking, brushed with a pale hint of color over her cheeks. The mauve rose tint of her lips complemented her coloring, as did the ivory muslin dress she wore. She nodded toward the table where his mask lay abandoned.

"Still not accustomed to being without it," she challenged, "after all this time?"

He studied her face despite his embarrassment at trying to hide his. Unsure of what he read in her expression, he wondered why she did not flinch at the sight of him, especially in this light.

"It is habitual by now," he answered softly, returning the challenge, "and I believe it has only been eight days." He watched her color and look away, toward the vicinity of the foot of his bed.

"How is your leg?" she shot back, "after all this time?"

"Numb and cramping—are you teasing me?"

"It has become habitual," she admitted with an unrepentant sigh, her gaze returning to his. "Should I apologize, Erik?"

His lips lifted halfway toward a smile. "I don't mind it—not from you."

"Why not?"

He pulled his gaze from the soft curve of her lips. "Because I deserve it, after all that I've put you through."

"I'll remember that," she smiled, laying a hand along the edge of the bed. "...but surely you've noticed the difference in your face."

Something about her barely suppressed excitement made him nod. "What did you do?"

Her smiled widened. "It's what Dr. Arnand did—when he first saw you he decided the mask should stay where it was on that table, and after his treatments he's gotten his wish!"

He wondered what she was so excited about. "I remember feeling wet cloths over my face," he admitted. "They had a strange odor--"

"Avocado and oatmeal," she explained. "We ground the two into a paste and applied it with linen strips for half an hour twice each day. Somehow this worked to gently peel off the surface skin. Then we applied moisturizers to the new skin beneath. Hopefully it feels as good as it looks. Everyone is quite pleased—"

"And who exactly is 'everyone'?"

She looked surprised. "Dr. Arnand and Pieter, Ben and everyone who came to pray for you—"

Alarmed, Erik lifted his hand to his face. "How many people have been in here?"

"Why dozens," she smiled, her expression quickly sobering when he turned his head away.

He closed his eyes, wishing himself far away from this place.

"I know you are hardly accustomed to it," she said gently, "but we all need other people, at times--"

"You are right—I am not accustomed to it," he said, feeling violated.

Obviously unaffected by his gruff reply, she touched his arm. "Erik...how much do you remember about the last few days?"

Regretting his harsh tone with her, he sighed tiredly. "Not much...only a few impressions."

"What do you remember?"

The man whose face had been destroyed, then healed. The man with rainbows of sadness in his eyes. Then there were the impressions she had left with her nearness and her touch, things that were too personal to share. Not knowing how to reply, he hesitated.

"We almost lost you, Erik," she said softly. "You drifted far away...even to the next world, as Pieter believes."

Erik took a deep, shuddering breath, choked with emotion. He could not look at her.

"He believes you lost your will to live, and that you needed our presence and our prayers to pull you back..."

Her voice was thick with emotion, forcing him look at her. When he did, he saw something unusually rare in her eyes: complete acceptance. It made him want to share his thoughts with her, a strange feeling indeed.

"I didn't want to come back," he admitted, holding her gaze.

"Well," she smiled, her eyes misting, "I for one am very thankful that you did."

Something connected them in that moment, yet they began to hear the approach of heavy footsteps. He watched her smile brighten as her hand tightened on his arm. "Don't worry," she encouraged just as the steps halted just outside the room. They both turned as a round, childlike face peered around the threshhold. It was a man's face, Erik noted before he averted his own.

"Awake at last!" the man called, his steps bringing him into the room. Erik felt his hand being grabbed and pumped once in a surprisingly strong grip. "You probably don't remember me but I'm Timmy—want something to eat?"

Erik turned halfway toward him, feeling his hand released abruptly. The man stood next to Meg, and Erik threw her a quick glance before he spoke.

"Hello, Timmy—" he said hesitantly, seeing the twinkle in the man's brown eyes. He was not much taller than Meg was when seated. "Have you met Meg?" he added, trying to remember his manners.

Timmy looked at her and burst into laughter. "Hi, Meg—but you didn't answer my question! I want to make you something good for the first time you get to eat."

Meg turned to look up at him. "Not yet, Timmy--only juice and broth for the first few days."

Timmy frowned. "Broth? But I am a baker!" He shot a conspiratorial grin to Erik. "How about a biscuit, or even better, a cinnamon roll?"

At the mention of food Erik's stomach growled; even worse, they all heard it. Quickly deciding that what little he had left of his dignity had already been shattered, he quirked a brow toward his nurse.

"Just a taste, please?" he asked her.

Timmy bowed in mock supplication to Meg. "Yes, please Meg?"

She glanced from one to the other with a laugh. "He's already siding with you Timmy, and you just walked in."

Several floors below them the heavy scrape of a door opened and closed, bringing Timmy to immediate attention. "That must be the doctor!" he whispered. "Quick Meg, go so I can help Erik get ready!"

She threw him an apologetic look, and Erik saw her begin to blush as she got up. "I will be back later," she said demurely before promptly exiting the room.

Taking his cue, Timmy bent to reach below the bed, glancing toward the hall as if to be sure she had left. When he straightened he ceremoniously deposited a clean chamber pot at the foot of the mattress. Their eyes met and the in the ensuing silence they listened as her footsteps echoed further down the hall and faded into the silence.

_He cannot possibly expect me to relieve myself in his presence, _Erik wondered, yet Timmy nodded with a knowing look.

"You are not serious—" he began to object, but Timmy turned his back and stood waiting.

"Do you want me to leave?" he whispered, and without waiting for Erik's answer he retreated back into the hall, staying out of sight.

Bemoaning his lack of privacy as well as his weakness, Erik sat up and reached for the offending object as he prayed for a fast recovery. Too irritated to admit the duty brought him undue relief, he complied despite the awkwardness of his condition. He shoved away his alarm at the lack of feeling in his hip and leg, which was heavily bandaged beneath the thin blanket covering him. Finally bending over and placing the ceramic on the floor, he stopped abruptly as a wave of nausea overtook him, stealing his breath. He heard Timmy's boots return and his protest as he balanced himself on one elbow, still leaning over toward the floor.

"No, no, let me do that!" Timmy objected, pushing it away with one foot as he gripped Erik's arm. Gently guiding him up and back against the pillows, he kept his hands on Erik's shoulders. "Breathe deep and make it pass," he ordered.

Taking his advice to heart, Erik did so while he heard Timmy carry the thing out to the hall. Timmy returned quickly and stood over him again."Better?"

Erik nodded, slowly opening his eyes again. "Yes, I think so."

"Pieter was right," Timmy sighed in obvious relief. "He warned us that we might have to force you to let us help!"

"Pieter is a wise man," Erik admitted, "I will try to remember that."

"He is a doctor, too," Timmy said distractedly as he glanced toward the door. They listened again but heard no one approach. Timmy looked at Erik and shrugged. "We have more time than I thought," he apologized sheepishly.

Beginning to relax in his presence, Erik nodded. "May I ask you something?"

Timmy sat down on the chair, putting his hands on his knees. "You may."

Erik hesitated a moment, but at Timmy's smile he forged onward. "Why aren't you afraid of the way I look?"

Timmy looked puzzled. "Why would I be afraid? Besides that, fear is a sin you know."

Erik stared at him, trying to digest that incredible statement. "My face frightens people," he attempted to elaborate.

"Why? It's a nice face," Timmy answered, getting up and going to the bureau. He returned holding out a hand mirror toward him. Erik stared at it without moving. Then Timmy chuckled.

"I forgot," he admitted, laying it upon Erik's lap. "You mean when you first came here—but that got better, too. Take a look."

Remembering the way his skin felt, Erik was tempted to do just that, though he would have preferred being alone. He was becoming too aware of the fact that there would be little opportunity for privacy here, and since he had initiated the subject and Timmy was waiting, he slowly raised the mirror. Staring at his reflection, he raised a tentative hand and touched the smoothed out surface of his face.

"It is better," he breathed, hardly believing what he saw. The drooping sac of skin below his right had tucked itself back into place. It looked firm and barely different from the other side. His skin was uncharacteristically healthy in color and without ulcers or sores. Beneath its improved surface the underlying bones were still uneven, but the overall appearance of that side of his face was much less shocking.

"See? It's getting better Erik."

He looked up at Timmy. "How long have I been like this?"

"Meg stopped making the masks two days ago."

Footsteps were climbing the stairs and Timmy snatched back the mirror. "That must be the doctor," he whispered, returning the mirror to the bureau. He turned as an older man knocked on the open door. He was stout but well dressed, distinguished in appearance, and Erik watched his look of surprise change to a wide grin.

"You're up!" he stated, nodding to Timmy as he entered and approached the bed. Slowly placing a black leather bag on the mattress, he extended his hand to Erik. "Dr. Marc Arnand at your service," he introduced himself, shaking briefly before he planted his hands on his hips. "I admit to being thrilled at seeing you awake and sitting up."

Erik nodded. "Thanks to your help, Sir."

"Please, call me Marc," he ordered good naturedly as he sat in the chair, shaking his head. "I must say you were quite a challenge even for somelike with all my years of experience," he said as he reached to open his case. "But you're young and strong, and you had a lot of help."

Timmy came up to his side, holding Erik's expectant look."Can he try one of my rolls for dinner?" he asked the doctor. "His stomach growled."

Dr. Arnand glanced up. "That is up to the patient," he answered, meeting Erik's glance. "Go easy on food the first few days, and drink more than you eat. You've lost a lot of blood so you will need beef stock twice a day for at least a fortnight. It will help you recover your strength."

"I will be back with some samples of my baking," Timmy said, dismissing himself as Dr. Arnand reached for Erik's wrist. He took out his watch and studied it as Erik unconsciously gripped his thigh against at painful cramp.

Dr. Arnand's eyes followed his gesture, returning to his watch."When did that start?"

"Just a moment ago," Erik answered, "though I'm relieved to feel anything at all."

Dr. Arnand dropped his wrist and pulled back the bed covers. "Any pain in the hip or groin?"

"No," Erik answered. "Just numbness."

"I'd like to inspect it--let me know if you're very uncomfortable."

They both fell silent as the bandages were quickly dispensed to reveal the damage. Feeling sick at the sight of his doubly swollen leg, Erik studied the black and purple coloring and lines of stitches, grimacing when it was cleaned and liniment reapplied. Dr. Arnand finally looked up, meeting his gaze.

"Don't worry—it won't look like this much longer if you keep it raised," he advised. "And don't put any weight on it until I next see you."

"Will I be able to walk as before?"

"In time, if you follow instructions."

"When can I get out of this bed?"

Dr. Arnand chuckled. "Fed up with lying around already?" he said, shaking his head and returning to his work of changing the bandaging. "When I finish I'll help you over to that chair, but only for an hour and only if you keep it elevated."

"Agreed."

Dr. Arnand returned his attention to his work of applying new gauze squares to cover the wounds. "Now I want to find out what you think about your face."

Erik hesitated, answering when the doctor glanced up meaningfully. "I saw it only a moment before you arrived," he said, still overwhelmed by the change. "The changes are remarkable."

Dr. Arnand nodded, continuing his work."I took the liberty of using an experimental treatment on you," he said, glancing toward the white mask on the table. "Wearing a mask only complicates the problem...skin needs sunlight and fresh air to be healthy."

Erik gingerly lifted his leg as the bandaging was wound around it. "I have had little of either."

Dr. Arnand glanced up. "What kind of place have you been living in? Any mold or dampness nearby?"

"Both," Erik admitted, grinding his teeth as he attempted to keep his leg up.

"Then you must find another place to live—and I would like you to see a surgeon about the bone deformities."

"Surgery?"

"If they are not corrected you will experience problems with breathing and infection, if you haven't already."

"I have, but is surgery really necessary?" he gasped, lowering his leg back to the mattress.

Dr. Arnand straightened, tossing the roll of clean bandages back into his bag. "There has been great progress in that field, particularly for victims of accident."

Erik leaned back against his pillows feeling exhausted. Pain was beginning to rampage throughout his leg and hip. "I am not sure I can arrange that—"

"The best surgeon lives in Paris, but travel is out of the question until that leg heals."

_Paris…_ Erik stiffened, wondering how he would ever explain the impossibility of returning there, as well as his reluctance to have anyone examine him. He was exhausted, overwhelmed and uneasy with all the people and decisions facing him.

"At least think about it--now, are you still as eager to get out of this bed?"

He nodded. "Very eager."

"But first let's get you another dose of medication so you will be able to tolerate the effort."

Meg maneuvered her way up the stairs, careful not to spill either the broth or tea she carried for him. Reaching the top stair, she entered Erik's room and stopped. He was sitting in the upholstered chair with his back to her, his leg extended over two pillows atop the ottoman. He turned enough to greet her and though she could see how pale and exhausted he looked, he smiled. His gaze dropped to the tray and returned somewhat hesitantly to hers.

"...is that for me?"

Coming quickly to her senses she nodded and came around before him. As she set the tray down her eyes were drawn to the half opened robe he wore over his nightshirt. A sprinkling of dark hair peeked out at the juncture of his shirt but she quickly shifted her attention elsewhere. Someone had helped him pull on black trousers; one fabric of one leg had been cut off to accommodate the thick bandaging he wore. She grimaced at the sudden memory of the knife stabbing into his leg as she met his puzzled look.

"Something wrong?"

She pulled up the chair she had occupied earlier. "I keep seeing the arc of that knife," she said, sitting down to face him.

"I keep feeling it," he said, his eyes drawing hers into his heated gaze. "If you hadn't seen it, I might not be sitting here."

Forcing away that thought, she leaned over to pick up the mug of broth, which she extended toward him. "You must be relieved to be out of bed, at the very least."

He nodded as he accepted the mug, took a few sips and leaned his head back, his eyes lighting with amusement. "You don't know what it took to get me into this chair—a mighty effort."

Thrilled at the return of his sense of humor, she watched him take another sip. "And I see that you've dressed for dinner Sir—how very formal."

He glanced down at his wrinkled nightshirt. "Quite a stretch of the imagination, calling this 'dressed.'"

She smiled into his gaze. "We had better call it that if I am to remain here alone with you," she said primly.

His eyes held hers as he took another drink. "I thought we had already moved beyond the rules of etiquette."

Admiring the masculine beauty of his hands as he held the mug, she remembered their strength in gripping her waist and steadying her hold on the pommel of Prince's saddle. Glancing up, she met his interested gaze, deciding that his eyes were by far his best feature. They revealed every expression he sought to hide, their color changing with his mood. She could not determine their color, for differing hues of green and blue fought for dominance, at times yielding to every combination of the two. Even now she saw them change from aqua to dark green, fired by glints of silver around the edges. They caused something deep inside her to come to life, unsettling her.

"You must be starving," she said suddenly, glancing back at the hand cupping his mug. "It's been over a week since you've eaten."

"This is very good—although for some odd reason I keep thinking of cinnamon rolls."

She met his gaze, enjoying the twinkle in his eyes and deciding he was not at all like she had imagined, and nothing like what people feared.

"Timmy makes huge rolls dotted with sugar and cinnamon, as well as nuts," she tempted him. "Drizzled with butter on top."

He smiled then, and it changed his entire appearance. She thought she had never seen a more attractive man, despite his deformity. She watched him place a hand over his stomach as he groaned softly.

"Don't tempt me—it has been too long since I last tasted a sweet."

"Really?" she sighed, leaning forward to lift a dry cracker. "Until he returns, might I tempt you with one of these delicacies?"

He nodded, taking it from her hand. "I'd like to test the limits of my appetite beforehand, not wishing to offend him."

"Very thoughtful of you," she said, sitting back. "He is rather proud of his baking."

"As well as other skills, better left unnamed," he stated blandly, biting into a cracker.

She knew he was referring to that embarrassing moment when she had been ordered out of the room. "I imagine he made it as practical an issue as possible, God bless him."

Erik swallowed with a nod. "Thankfully, he did."

They sat in companionable silence as he finished all the broth and ate another cracker. He took a few sips of the tea before lowering that mug. Sighing tiredly, he rested his head back against the chair, holding her gaze.

"You will find your place here, in time," she said simply.

Something fired in the depths of his eyes. "I am completely out of my element here," he answered. "As we are both aware."

She smiled sweetly. "You think so?"

"I do."

"Give yourself time, Erik—the change might be good for you."

He pinned her with a challenging stare. "In what way?" he asked softly.

The tension between them heightened, making her heart beat more rapidly. Careful to gauge his reaction, she leaned toward him again. "For one thing, you could try a piece of cheese," she suggested, holding one out to him. His eyes darkened as he leaned toward her, his fingertips lightly brushing hers as he grasped it. A jolt of awareness shot up her arm and stabbed her in the stomach.

"Why not?" he said softly, his heated gaze burning into her. "I am not one to back down from a challenge."

Lost in those eyes, she realized there was no other place she would rather be. "Live dangerously, Erik," she said softly.

His eyes fired and changed as he leaned back, dropping the cheese into the empty mug. He sighed and looked away, gently shaking his head. "No more games," he ordered softly.

She stared at his profile, noting the grim set of his lips. What had she done? Offended him? Teased him too much just to let him know that she enjoyed his company? "But I like our games," she admitted.

He swung his gaze back, his eyes full of pain. A nerve jumped in his unshaven cheek. "Some games can be dangerous."

She nodded. "I know--I don't care."

He looked away without a word, one hand moving to grip his thigh. "I cannot play any longer," he stated, his voice tight.

Was he thinking of Christine, and comparing them? Quickly getting up, she reached for the tray. "I'm sorry, Erik—I did not mean to cause you any more pain—"

"Don't go."

She looked down into his guarded expression, watching in fascination as the corner of his mouth turned up.

"It's not polite to interrupt a meal," he stated, his eyes moving toward the plate of crackers. "And you haven't had a bite."

She tilted her head and studied him a moment, lilfting a cracker toward her lips. "May I?"

He nodded, watching her slowly lower the tray and take her seat again. She chewed it slowly, holding his gaze.

"Now that that's settled," he said, relaxing his head back again, "tell me how you acquired your nurse's training."

She swallowed her cracker and smiled teasingly. "I am not a nurse."

His eyebrow lifted. "I was fairly certain that it was you who nursed me during my long journey into delirium."

"Oh? How can you be certain?" she parried. "There were dozens of people in here—"

"I have my ways," he interrupted, his smile sly. "You cannot fool me, Marguerite."

Thrilled at the sound of her formal name spoken by his marvelous voice, she forced herself to concentrate on their conversation. "All right, I admit I did but that does not qualify me as a nurse."

"Then what are you?"

She shrugged. "Just another pair of hands to help when needed."

"I sense there was more to it than that."

"How so?"

He looked thoughtful. "For one thing, you administered a tourniquet on the ride here, if I recall correctly."

She nodded, her throat dry. He offered his tea, which she drank without pause, well aware of the intimacy of sharing his mug.

"Timmy tells me you applied the skin treatments as well," he stated, his eyes moving to her lips.

"I thought that if you were to awaken and find a stranger doing it, you might resist."

"You're probably right about that," he admitted, watching her carefully. "I believe you also read to me and, if I was not imagining it, you even sang."

She handed back the mug, avoiding his burning gaze. "I don't sing."

"Are you sure about that?"

Christine's face flashed before her eyes, but she pushed the memory away and looked up. "I'm sure," she emphasized. "But I do dance, as you may recall correctly."

He nodded, his eyes probing the depths of her soul. "I do recall," he said softly.

There it was again, she noted; the interest, even the attraction. How brave of him to risk it, she thought, cherishing his effort. His lips bore the hint of a smile as their eyes held.

"She is a wonderful dancer," Pieter interrupted, startling them both.

Flustered, Meg looked up, wondering how long he had been standing there, just outside the threshold. Blushing hotly, she quickly collected the dishes. "Pieter—we didn't hear you coming," she said, lifting the tray and getting up. His attention was on Erik, who had half turned toward him.

"No, I don't suppose you did..."

Thankfully Erik intervened. "Thank you for bringing my dinner," he said to her. "I was more hungry than I first realized."

She glanced at him with a shy smile. "I will see you tomorrow then," she said, dismissing herself with a nod toward Pieter.

c. 2007 by Christine Levitt


	8. Chapter 8 Acceptance

_**Chapter 8 – Acceptance  
**_  
"You like Meg."

Erik dragged his gaze from the threshold to meet Pieter's penetrating stare. "She is a good friend," he answered carefully.

Pieter slowly strolled toward the window and looked out, the golden sunlight outlining his profile. "I'm not blind, Erik—she is more than that to you."

Erik frowned, glancing toward his upraised, heavily bandaged leg. "There cannot be 'more'—

whether I like it or not."

Pieter turned to face him, crossing his arms. "Meg is a strong young woman, with her own mind and wishes."

"She brought me here quite selflessly," Erik replied, finally looking at the man who was obviously her protector. "I am very grateful for her help."

Pieter walked toward him, stopping to tower over him. "I've known her for some years, and she has taken me into her confidence on a number of matters, one of which concerns your having saved her life. It seems to me that at the very least, she sees you as her hero."

Erik shifted uncomfortably. "I have never encouraged her in that regard…quite the opposite, to be frank."

Pieter smiled knowingly. "Meg is also very wise, beyond her years," he continued. "Both she and her mother could become formidable opponents should they set their minds to any task."

"And you have concluded that I am their next victim."

"I'm only observing for now," Pieter admitted, his expression sobering. "Do take care with her feelings, Erik…she responds more deeply than others her age might."

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed by thoughts of the future, Erik leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Now I feel even more ancient than before," he said wearily.

"You do look tired," Pieter chuckled, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Let me help you up and back into bed."

Erik looked up at him, wondering what he was about. He was obviously the man in charge, yet strangely the servant of all, a bewildering combination. "I can do it myself," he answered, stretching toward the pillows that held up his leg. As he did so pain shot up the back of his thigh. Clenching his teeth, he leveled it off the pillows and gingerly lowered it until his heel touched the floor. Had he not been heavily medicated he sensed the pain would be even more excruciating.

"Dr. Arnand ordered me to help you with that," Pieter told him quietly.

Still bent over his leg, Erik blinked in an effort to clear the large spots dancing before his eyes. "I've got to start managing on my own," he said hoarsely.

"Why, so you can leave?"

He looked up and met Pieter's guarded expression. "Yes, so I can leave."

Pieter bent toward him and grasped his upper arm in an iron grip. "You're in no condition to leave, at least not yet."

Much against his will, Erik let him help him to a standing position. Yet once he straightened his back his vision darkened as a wave of dizziness swept over him.

"Damn!" he gasped, swaying despite Pieter's reinforcing arm beneath his. "Is there any way to make the room stop spinning?"

"There is," Pieter laughed, sweeping his arm behind Erik's back. "More rest, though I'm sure you'd rather hear a different answer." 

Eventually settling back against the pillows, Erik was alarmed at how shaky and weak he felt. He watched Pieter raise his heel onto two pillows and draw the blankets up to his waist, hating the position in which he found himself. In this peaceful and ordered world he was a dangerous fugitive, reluctant kidnapper, helpless invalid and devil caught in this web of a promised land. He closed his eyes, hating his weakness and vulnerability, hating his deformity and the crimes of his passions. Quite unexpectedly fear and panic began to course within him.

"You scared me, Erik;" he heard Pieter chuckle, "for a moment or two you were as white as a ghost."

Throwing a hand over his forehead, he began to shake with laughter at the irony of Pieter's choice of words. _If you only knew…._

"What is so amusing, Erik?"

Erik opened his eyes as he lowered his arm and let it flop to the mattress. Pieter's worried look only made him laugh harder. "You don't know, do you?" he gasped, gripped with hysteria. "That is one of my titles—they call me…the Opera Ghost!"

Pieter's forehead wrinkled as his smile began to fade. "Who does, and why?"

Erik braced his temples with his fingers, feeling his control slipping. "It is the best of horror stories, and it's true," he laughed. "You have taken in a ghost, not a man…and once you realize it you will be quick to cast me speedily from your paradise—the sooner the better!"

Pieter sat down slowly down, still staring at him but with grave concern. _What's come over me?_ he chastised himself, trying to stop laughing. _The poor man is only trying to help._

"I don't see a ghost," Pieter began, "…I see a man in desperate need of others, though quite unaccustomed to, and unwilling in that need."

Erik looked up, staring at him suspiciously. "I don't need your pity, or anyone else's!" he snarled. "I've managed on my own all this time—"

"I'm sure you have—but how have others managed around you?"

Holding Pieter's gaze, Erik slowly shook his head. "So quick to judge, when you don't know me at all—"

"I'm not judging you," Pieter objected, leaning toward him. "I see your anger, but I also see your pain, Erik. But let me tell you that once you have rid yourself of the first, the latter will finally be healed."

"All I have is my anger," Erik defended. "It has proven to be the only thing which keeps me from ending it all."

Pieter straightened. "That is definitely not all you have, judging from what I have heard—"

"Waste your time entertaining gossip and you will doubtless be rewarded with lies!"

"All right then, why don't you tell me the truth?"

"Why should I bother?"

"Because you owe it to me."

Their gazes held a moment. "So you want the truth, when I can barely bring myself to face it myself, Sir?" Erik laughed. "I am sure you have better things to do, than waste your valuable time in such a pursuit!"

Pieter spread his arms wide. "I'm giving you my time—furthermore, you should know that if this 'paradise' is founded upon any one thing it is the truth, so you have come to the right place."

"I did not come here by choice!"

"But here you are," Pieter smiled indulgently. "Why not make the best of it?"

Erik stared at him, resentful of the fact that he was right. He did owe Pieter, and Meg…he owed them all.

"All right—you want the truth then you shall have it: I _am_ a ghost in every sense of the word. I am a soul disembodied from and by the society of others. I flit around the edges of their realities, watching but never allowed to participate. I was separated from others upon my birth, cast out and cut off, neither alive nor dead. And so I have been forced to fulfill my dreams in the nightmares of others, left to intimidate and manipulate just to find a foothold. I've had to make my own way without choice, forced to endure the lonely company of my own sins yet helpless to control or atone for them. I have known no other way to live, so forgive me for not settling back and wanting to stay!"

Though the answering silence shamed and haunted him, Erik forced himself to face Pieter's shocked expression. Then, much to his surprise and horror, he felt an overwhelming urge to weep, made worse when Pieter shifted to the edge of the bed and pulled him into a tight embrace. Though he struggled against it, Erik found himself pinned, hating his weaknesses, both physical and emotional. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting for breath.

"I think you've done remarkably well," Pieter insisted, his voice hoarse. "But I cannot let you leave."

The emotion in his voice broke the dam of emotions deep within him, and Erik found himself shaking with silent sobs. Pushing against Pieter's arms, he found his grip only tightened.

"I forgive your anger and hatred," Pieter said soberly, "and I want you to know that as a fellow human being I love you and accept you Erik, just as you are."

Shaking his head and willing away the great choking sobs that wrenched his chest, Erik felt tears burst from his closed eyes. He gasped in pain, trying to hold in his grief but he was too weak to fight it. He hated the storm of emotions overcoming him as much as the fact that this man was witness to it. Swallowing with great difficulty, he tried to object but found he could do nothing but barely hold in the great sobs of pain clutching his throat.

Pieter held on as he spoke directly into his left ear. "I also want you to know that I have been praying for you even before your arrival, and I believe that God wants you to know how very much He loves you—"

"Nooo!" Erik groaned in pain, shaking his head. 

"..He told me to expect you, and to prepare to help you discover His love—that is why you have come here, Erik."

"I have destroyed everything I've touched!" Erik gasped, even as his heart yearned to believe the words.

"God loves you, Erik—you belong to Him and He has a purpose for your life."

Erik balled the back of Pieter's jacket into his fists. "He can't—He—doesn't know—what I've—"

"He knows everything about you, and about me," Pieter continued, "but until we experience His presence we are all equally and truly lost."

"I don't belong here—" Erik gasped, loosening his grip. He was losing his battle against his desire to further harden his heart.

"Maybe not forever, but for now you do," Pieter insisted, squeezing his shoulders before he began to slowly pull away. "This entire parish has been praying for your safe arrival."

Swallowing what he hoped to be his final sob, Erik transferred his grip to the bed linens. "Why would they do that?" he objected, unable to lift his head.

"That is what we do here, but not just for you."

He felt Pieter's hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him back against the upraised pillows. Stiffly he allowed himself to be guided there, but averted his face, keeping his eyes closed.

"Now catch your breath while I tell you what I have learned about purpose in life," Pieter ordered.

"Do I have a choice?" Erik complained.

"Of course you do," was the good natured answer. "But I think it might help you manage your stay here better, however brief it may be."

Erik opened his eyes to study the wall at his side. "I don't suppose you would just go about your day and leave me to my misery?"

"Not yet."

"All right," he sighed, "I am it appears at your complete disposal."

It was Pieter's turn to sigh, and Erik smiled despite his better intentions. Somehow Pieter's frustration with him put them on more even ground.

"You are not going to make this easy for me, are you Erik?"

"I am just returning the favor," he answered, thinking of the humiliation he had just suffered in crying before the man. Something he had never done before any living being.

"Fair enough, then I'll be brief," Pieter began. "Although you may have felt cut off from humankind, you have never been truly alone, Erik. None of us has."

"That has not been my experience," he sighed, hearing Pieter settle back into the bedside chair.

"As in illustration, I would like you to tell me about your dreams."

Startled by the man's uncanny perception, Erik wondered if he had cried out during the time of his illness and delirium. He remembered dreams, or what he thought might have been dreams.

"I'd rather not," he sighed wearily, closing his eyes. 

Pieter chuckled. "It just occurred to me that in your isolation you have been blissfully free of nagging, but I do insist."

"Do you."

"Yes, and I'll not leave until you've shared them."

After a moment Erik decided he had had enough social intercourse and needed to be alone. The only way to achieve that as to give Pieter what he wanted. "I can hardly distinguish dream from reality," he finally admitted.

"Then share what you remember—you did express your feelings from time to time."

Erik opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. "I talked in my sleep?"

"Perhaps 'shouted' is the more accurate word."

Erik had to laugh at himself, strangely relaxing in Pieter's presence. "It seems I have spent most of my life shouting at something."

"That is quite understandable," Pieter agreed. "But I do suspect that at one point you experienced something remarkable, just before you came to your senses."

Erik stared at the wall, remembering. And Pieter had been here when he had awoken. Still, he was reluctant to share what he had experienced; it was too personal a matter, one he hadn't even time to consider. 

"Something good must have happened—we were interceding for you for days," Pieter insisted. "Don't tell me our efforts were in vain."

Erik half turned to study his eager expression. "For what were you interceding?"

Pieter shrugged. "The usual—that your life be spared, that you be healed, and that you would have a heavenly encounter of some kind."

Surprised by his sense of humor, Erik studied him a moment, sensing that here was a man he might trust. It was an unusual feeling, particularly concerning a man of faith. "No," he answered quietly. "Your efforts were not in vain."

As the sun slanted away from the single window and the day lengthened toward dusk Erik shared what he remembered, finally describing his vision of the man in white. Of that encounter he shared only the outline of what he considered too personal. Pieter listened patiently, his face intent. By the time he was Erik's relief was so great that he fell silent, unable to say more. He watched Pieter smile faintly before he got up and walked to the window seat. From the stack of books tucked into the corner he chose the top one and returned to his seat. Upon his opening it, Erik could see that the pages were worn, and he wondered what could possibly relate to what he had just shared. As Pieter's soothing voice began to read, however, his heart leapt in response as he listened intently.

_Who would have believed our report? And to whom hath the arm of the LORD been revealed?  
For he shot up right forth as a sapling, and as a root out of dry ground; He had no form nor comeliness that we should look upon him, nor beauty that we should delight in him._

_  
He was despised, and forsaken of men, a man of pains, and acquainted with disease, and as one from whom men hide their face: He was despised, and we esteemed him not.  
_

_Surely our diseases he did bear, and our pains he carried; whereas we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. But he was wounded because of our transgressions, He was crushed because of our iniquities: the chastisement of our welfare was upon him and with his stripes we were healed.  
All we like sheep did go astray, we turned every one to his own way; and the LORD hath made to light on him the iniquity of us all… he was cut off out of the land of the living, for the transgression of my people to whom the stroke was due. And they made his grave with the wicked, and with the rich  
His tomb; although he had done no violence, neither was any deceit in his mouth. Yet it pleased the LORD to crush him by disease; to see if his soul would offer itself in restitution, that he might see his seed, prolong his days, and that the purpose of the LORD might prosper by his hand: Of the travail of his soul he shall see to the full, even My servant, who by his knowledge did justify the Righteous One to the many, and their iniquities he did bear. Therefore I will divide him a portion among the great, and he shall divide the spoil with the mighty; because he bared his soul unto death, and was numbered with the transgressors; yet he bore the sin of many,and made intercession for the transgressors._

The words cut deeply, clearly describing what the man he had encountered in his vision. He stared at Pieter, finally finding his voice. "What did you just read?"

Pieter held the open book toward him. "The Holy Scriptures according to the prophet Isaiah, chapter 53."

Erik cradled the small volume in his hands, staring down at the words he had just been read. "It's real."  
He looked up at Pieter's peaceful expression. "I saw His face, when it was bloody and disfigured," he croaked, his voice catching on the last word. "But it was healed, right before my eyes."

Pieter nodded. "You have seen what the rest of only dream of, Erik—don't doubt it."

Erik held his gaze. "Now that I see it in writing, I cannot...nor do I wish to."

c. 2007 by Christine Levitt


	9. Chapter 9 The Managers' Plan

**_Chapter 9 - The Managers' Plan_**

"We decline filing formal charges, Inspector," Firmin stated, handing the papers back.

"We cannot involve ourselves any further," Andre added apologetically. "Within two hours we depart for a fundraising tour to pay for the restorations. It is, dear sir, quite unavoidably necessary."

"Besides, it would only be a dreadful waste of time," Firmin said, locking his desk drawer. "Yours, as well as ours."

"One cannot prosecute a ghost," Andre added with a nervous laugh. "Assuming you ever find him."

Leger met Gilbert's frown as he tucked the documents back into his portfolio. "As you wish, gentlemen," he stated. "However I must say that I find it strange your not taking advantage of prosecuting such vandalism. It might help recoup some of your losses."

"We have chosen the most profitable route of past benefactors and opera connoisseurs," Firmin explained. "They have money—the courts do not."

"Neither does the Phantom—" Andre huffed. "We had to pay him, and are therefore well aware of his limitations."

Louise Giry had all she could do to keep from voicing her outrage. Pressing her lips tightly together she stared at the wall opposite where she sat, feeling the sudden weight of someone's regard. Determining to be as vague with the inspector as possible, she prayed the managers would hasten their departure and thus dismiss the police. Then she might be able to finally draw a full breath.

"In our absence Mme. Giry here will assume dual responsibility," Firmin announced, "along with our solicitor, of course."

She looked up at their silence, nodding to the police. "I am at your service, Inspector," she replied, hoping to keep her expression bored. Yet everything within her screamed to disclose the fact that over the past few months the managers had cut Erik's finances in half while they did absolutely nothing to contribute to the opera's success but to wine and dine with the upper classes. They spent more money than Erik had ever hoped to wrestle from their grip.

"Frankly, I cannot wait to get away," Andre said dramatically, gathering up his coat and gloves. "Though we are of course grateful to the city for housing the entire opera company, I think we managers need a bit of a respite."

Leger tightened his jaw, obviously frustrated by their lack of cooperation. Yet Louise knew their failure to prosecute Erik was a clear indication of his contributions, and she only hoped they would begin to see him in a better light. Even better, it meant that their case against him grew weaker. It was also apparent that no one had any clue of his whereabouts, and she would do everything she could to keep it that way, even if it meant lying. Leger, however, was not one to be fooled and she would have to be very careful. She must make it clear that she shared the managers' terror of the Phantom, and make it known that countless owners and managers preceding them had responded in the same manner. Erik's only protection lay in the cloud of mystery and superstition he himself had created, and the little the police learned of him the better. Since neither he nor Meg had returned she was sure that they had made their way to Pieter's parish. Given sanctuary, time and their sound advice, she prayed that Erik might someday gain the understanding and forgiveness he so desperately needed. Especially in the eyes of the law.

"Madame Giry?" the inspector repeated, bringing her back to the present. She looked up, noting the impatience in his expression.

"I'm sorry," she smiled. "I was daydreaming—I do that when I am exhausted."

Leger nodded. "I understand, and we will not detain you much longer. I do wish to hear about your relationship with this so called Phantom of the Opera—as well as anything you could tell us that may help us discover his whereabouts."

"I cannot say," she shrugged. "This was his only home, I merely followed his orders like everyone else."

"Do you believe he is a dangerous man?"

Again she shrugged. "Perhaps only if his authority is challenged," she said meaningfully, her eyes on the managers.

"We heartily disagree," Firmin harumphed. "But do not think for a moment that anyone will be able to conjure up that ghost to pay the damages or face prosecution."

Andre nodded enthusiastically. "He laughs at the authority of others; no one has yet to control him or make him appear."

Leger frowned. "Surely you realize we are looking for a man, not a ghost."

"Well he might as well be a ghost," Andre breathed. "He has successfully eluded all of us. One simply cannot win against him."

"The man is a scoundrel," Firmin concurred. "He has no doubt fled the country by now."

"You might try Persia, where he was reportedly in hiding before coming here," Andre hinted, "in the court of the sultan no less."

Firmin shook his head. "How could anyone find him abroad, when we could not even find him in our midst?"

Leger shifted his attention back to her. "If I have my facts straight, it was you he chose as his agent, Madam. Perhaps you could elaborate upon your role as such."

She curled her hands around the arms of her chair, sitting straighter. "He paid me a monthly stipend to keep Box 5 on reserve for him; other than that I merely implemented whatever other instructions he gave concerning matters of performance, just as we all did."

"You complied without questioning?"

"Yes, of course," she admitted with a sly smile. "He truly does have a gift in these matters, evidenced by our years of success."

"Inspector--I must object!"

Leger held up a hand to Firmin, nodding to her. "How did you receive your stipend, and your instructions?"

"He left me deposits in a locked box whose key I retained," she explained. "The managers had their own as well. As for delivering instructions, he would leave handwritten notes in various places."

"To what regard?"

"Detailing of problems with performance or changes needing to be made in costume or setting," she answered. "Oftentimes he would address safety issues."

Firmin waved a hand. "He was forever interfering in our affairs, as he did with previous owners; it has been the opera's greatest frustration, having to deal with his perfectionism."

"Then he considered himself in charge," Leger stated, looking to her again. "What kind of safety issues were mentioned?"

"Sometimes the young people would sneak out at night, or into the wrong dormitory, both violations of our rules," she said with a glance at the managers. "Those who wandered astray or outsiders causing trouble were both reported to us in writing, and if not taken care of immediately fell to his carrying out the required actions."

"Have you retained any of these reports?"

Andre nodded. "I have—" he stated, pulling out a folder from the stack upon his desk. "Please, be my guest and take the entire file."

Leger nodded as Gilbert took it from him. "How did he manage to learn of these occurrences?"

"He knew everything," Firmin spoke up. "He kept watch over all of us--"

"Quite successfully averting trouble," Louise interjected.

"He never let any of us breathe," Firmin grumbled, shifting through his own files.

"Did you suffer any theft or break in during all this time?" Leger asked them.

"Only of late, when his interests were diverted to winning Christine's affections," she sighed, shaking her head.

"That much is true," Firmin admitted with obvious reluctance. "We have begun to see evidence of outer doors being tampered with, particularly surrounding the girls' dormitory."

"Were there ever any incidents of improper behavior on his part?" Leger asked him. "Any inappropriate advances toward anyone?"

"On the contrary, Inspector," Louise offered. "He took care of that for us."

"Could you explain more fully?"

"If any of the men tried to bother the women," Andre began, "particularly the younger ones, they would be forcefully discouraged."

"Yes, there were many of those kinds of ghost sightings," Firmin chuckled. "He had his hands full with all the mischief we've seen."

"Was there anyone in particular who got into 'mischief'?"

Firmin's face lit with a strange gleam, and he cleared his throat. "Josef Buquet was a problem—always spying on the girls, not to mention his drinking."

"And Buquet was particularly fond of your daughter," Andre said slyly, looking at her with a smug expression. "But that problem was quickly resolved, was it not?"

Louise saw the suspicion in Leger's stare. "You have a daughter? Where is she?"

She frowned dutifully. "I sent her to stay with relatives as soon as I saw the fire," she stated. "I knew I would be busy here, and thought it better for both our sakes."

Leger nodded. "That sounds like a wise decision...Josef Buquet—why does that name seem familiar?"

"The opera ghost wrote many notes warning the managers to fire him," she told him. "Warnings which were ignored."

"He took that matter into his own hands," Firmin explained.

"I wish to speak with this Josef Buquet," Leger stated, watching Gilbert note the name. "Where might I find him?"

"The Phantom murdered him, not long ago," Andre sighed. "So now you know what kind of man you are dealing with, Inspector."

"Hung from the rafters and dropped right in the middle of a performance!" Firmin spat.

Leger frowned at them. "I remember now; it was reported as an accidental death, a result of his work above the rafters."

"He was hung by the neck with a noose!" Firmin declared. "That is the phantom's trademark—a lasso!"

"What do you mean, his 'trademark'?" Leger wanted to know. To Louise's great relief, he looked more and more skeptical.

"Nooses were hung on the doorknobs of any male offenders caught in the women's wing," she explained. "They were meant to frighten and discourage such behavior. But Josef Buquet did much more than the others. He drank on the job, stole things and worse, took liberties he had no right to take—I for one do not miss him at all."

"Why was this not reported to the authorities?" Leger asked the managers.

"We couldn't prove anything, whether it was Buquet or the Phantom," Firmin stated. "Now that they are both gone, maybe we will finally have some peace!"

"I will look further into this man Buquet—does this phantom have a name?"

"We all referred to him as the Operat Ghost, or the Phantom of the Opera," Andre explained.

"It seems Mlle. Daae had another name," Leger prompted. "Angel of Music, or Angel—were any of you aware of that title?"

"Only she called him that," Louise answered. "It started when she was only a child, and I think she believed he was a real angel until they met face to face. In fact, he called her that as well, to my knowledge."

"I see," Leger sighed, pulling out his watch. "I have another appointment but I would like to keep in touch. Please, messieurs, let us know your whereabouts each week by telegram. Mme. Giry, I may call upon you again, if I may."

"Certainly, Inspector."

"If any of you learn anything more, please contact us promptly."

Firmin extended his hand. "Thank you for your assistance, Inspector."

They shook hands, followed by Andre. "We trust, sir, that you will handle matters to the best of your ability," he hinted, watching Leger pat his pocket and glance at Louise.

"Thank you, Madame, for helping me find the wedding ring."

"I am at your service," she replied, watching the policemen gather their things and bid her good day. After they were gone she put a hand to her head, feeling completely exhausted.

"Thank God they finally left," Firmin whispered, straightening up his desk.

"I think he believed us," Andre whispered back, rubbing his hands together. "Now we can set off with some amount of relief."

Firmin turned toward Louise. "Your salary cut is only temporary," he reminded her. "But feel free to make a home here for yourself—there will be plenty of room with the touring company away, helping us impress the barons of society with our talent."

She looked up in shock. "Touring company—what do you mean?"

Firmin pulled on his coat. "You do not think we would go alone? That would not make much of an impression would it?"

She stood to her feet. "But that is my company—I am headmistress!"

Andre wagged a finger of scolding at her. "They will only be performing a few scenes from Don Juan Triumphant—just enough to lure the crowds—"

"Why was I not informed?" she demanded. "Just because we haven't a building does not mean we have no ballet!"

"We are only taking half your dancers, and the four lead singers of course," Firmin stated. "In our absence you can continue rehearsing for the following opera."

Louise laid a hand over her heart. "But you went behind my back to do this—how could you?"

The managers looked at each other a moment, then Firmin cleared his throat. "We did not wish to overburden you madam—"

"Overburden me?" she laughed in disbelief. "You made me overseer of renovations, also without my consent, then cut my salary but the one thing you should not have taken was my dancers!"

"But we need them with us and you here," Andre soothed. "Quite frankly, Madame, you are indispensable."

"Summon Meg back to help you," Andre said, winking at Firmin. "She's nearly as gifted as her mother."

"My daughter is not your concern!" she shouted, rubbing her temple. "And be forewarned: your plans to perform Don Juan without obtaining his permission will only invite disaster—"

"Raoul de Chagny has given us his approval, and is backing the tour," Firmin said smugly. "After the newlyweds spend a little time together, they will be joining us for the London premiere, Christine singing the lead of course!"

"This is outrageous!" she protested. "They have no more right than you do!"

"Then let your friend the phantom come and have us arrested!" Firmin said quietly, his face reddening. "You should be grateful we did not enlighten the inspector to your true relationship with the phantom! That is why we feel we must conceal our plans from you in order to prevent your informing him!"

"He is gone, in case you have not noticed!" Louise spat. "But do not be so foolish to presume he will remain unaware of your plans, especially if you are taking his opera abroad."

"Surely you are not foolish enough to remain in his confidence?" Andre said smoothly. "After all we just witnessed?"

She waved a hand at him dismissively. "What if he were to attend one of your performances? Something tells me you may, or may not, live to regret it."

"He wouldn't dare!" Firmin spat. "Nevertheless we have arranged for even tighter security measures in the future."

"You should both be reported to the Council!" she threatened.

"Your friend isn't so stupid to show his face anywhere near us again, if he learned his lesson!" Firmin stated.

"He owes us his royalties in payment for what he's done," Andre agreed, "leaving us all homeless and destitute!"

"One would think it would feed his ego to learn how desperate the public is to hear the opera that burned down the house!" Firmin complained. "Or have you forgotten the riot we nearly had when they learned about what Christine did to him? He has successfully won their affection so much so that everyone wants HIM to sing the lead!"

"I don't know all the trouble we've had in finding a replacement for poor Piangi," Andre scolded, shaking his head. "If it weren't for Raoul's voice we would be without hope."

"We have already been forewarned about the full premiere in the fall; the police doubt they can control the city, thanks to his ploy for sympathy!" Firmin griped.

"Full premiere?" she croaked, astounded at their boldness. "Do not even think of luring him back here with your plans! He is the composer and without his permission you are thieves! He may very well sue you!"

"Why would he if we make his opera into an international success!" Firmin smiled. "Do you really want our solicitors to track him down in order to get his permission?"

Glaring at him, she crossed her arms. "You are heartless and despicable, both of you! Stealing is stealing, no matter what excuse you employ, and you should be ashamed of encouraging Raoul and Christine. You know very well that Raoul broke them apart, luring Christine away from someone who truly loved her, with his good looks and his money!"

Firmin draped his coat over his arm and tipped his hat to her. "Raoul's only desire is to see the Opera restored and his wife continue her successful career. With the de Chagny family on our side, I doubt any lawsuit filed by a phantom would be able to stand."

Louise kept her lips sealed as she watched them head toward the door. "We will see about that," she said to their backs. "Have a _safe_ journey, _gentlemen!_"

As soon as they were gone she rushed to Firmin's desk, jiggling the lock but to no avail. He had obviously changed it and provided a new one for which she had no key. Taking a moment to search what had been left unlocked, she moved on to Mon. Andre's desk and eventually found what she sought. Pulling the papers from a messy stack, she scanned the contents and noted the dates with a sinking feeling in her heart. But it was the announcement which captured her attention and revealed their true intent:

_**"DON JUAN TRIUMPHANT" RESURRECTED - **The touring company of the Opera Populaire, Paris, France, is proud to present three exciting evenings of the infamous new opera "Don Juan Triumphant." Composed by reclusive genius Erik Destler, it rocked the opera world recently with its darkly sensual music and was interrupted by an jealous altercation among the performers. This eventually led to a fire which forced its abrupt end and the resultant closure of the Paris opera. Highlights from "Don Juan" will be performed by famed diva soprano Christine Daae, reprising her role and joined by tenor Raoul de Chagny, opera patron, in his debut upon the stage. Proceeds from these performances will aid opera renovations in anticipation of its grand reopening this fall. Discounted tickets for the premiere event will be locally in advance. Do not let this opportunity pass: be awed by the passionate and violent "Don Juan Triumphant" during these scheduled performances... (left blank)_

Louise shook her head in disbelief, turning quickly to find an envelope. In that moment she saw a newspaper clipping that looked strangely familiar. Lifting it from the pile, she saw that it was the same article she had read to Jean that morning. This she placed in the envelope, along with the announcement and itinerary. Finally, she bent over the desk and wrote her own note for inclusion:

_Dearest Erik,  
__I pray that you and Meg are well and that you have found a new and happier life. I trust you found my other note and that you have at least considered my request. I forward the enclosed to you in great distress. These__ plans were set in place without my prior knowledge or approval, and despite my strongest protests they have fallen upon deaf ears. I only include them to make you aware of what has developed in your absence. It appears that most of the opera community has chosen to resume their lives without further trouble or publicity, and I hope you will do the same. My heart goes out to you, and I miss you both dearly. __As always, __Louise..._

Rushing through the corridors back to her temporary rooms, she secured the envelope with her personal seal and addressed it. Then, picking up her cloak and scarf, she left the administration building to post it in the afternoon mail, her face grim.

c. 2007 by Christine Levitt


	10. Chapter 10 The Request

_**Chapter 10 – The Request**_

Erik heard a dull thud at his door, startling him from a light sleep. Opening his eyes and turning his head on the pillow, he concentrated on the muffled sounds coming from behind the closed door. Blinking away the groggy feeling draping over him, he prepared himself for yet another violation of his privacy. Scraping sounds preceded a man's voice muttering something his ears could not discern while he resigned himself to his position of being in the reluctant care of others. Struggling toward a sitting position, he gripped his leg in an effort to push away the pain, smiling at the irony of his situation. Thus reminded of why he needed their help, he lifted a hand and covered the right side of his face.

"Come in," he called out just as the door was kicked open. His eyes shot to those of the young man standing there. His brows lifted in apologetic surprise before he shifted his attention back to the strange looking chair he gripped between his hands. Erik watched in stunned silence while he executed a few tight maneuvers and then both he and the chair shoved their way into his room. He looked up into the relieved expression of the younger man as he planted his hands on his hips.

"I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Ben," he stated with a grin. "Time to get you ready for your appointment with Pieter."

His voice sounded strangely familiar, but Erik was too stunned to answer. Diverting his attention to the chair, he studied its strange construction. It had wheels like a bicycle, but there were two smaller ones in front. The upholstered seat was finely woven in rich, expensive looking fabric.

"_What_ is that?" he said in a hoarse voice, meeting Ben's waiting gaze.

"Your means of escape," he quipped, pushing it closer with a conspiratorial smile. "Want a ride?"

Erik took only a moment to weigh Ben's hopeful expression against the long flight of stairs he knew must lead down to the exit."In _that_?"

Ben shrugged his shoulders. "How else are you going to get about? You're not ready for crutches yet."

Erik leaned his head back against the upraised pillows with a sigh. "I doubt I'm ready for that thing, either."

"Would you rather be carried out on a stretcher?"

Erik pursed his lips. "No."

"Don't worry--I'll help you into it, once we get you dressed," Ben smiled, pushing the chair in a small circle for him to examine.  
"Look," he announced, reaching down to lift what looked like a foot rest. "It even has a way to hold your leg up."

"Wonderful."

Ben frowned. "Come on—don't you want to get out of here?"

Erik glanced toward the window, thinking of how rare a treat it would be to venture out into the light of day. The sky beyond his window was deep blue, with a few scattered white clouds drifting by. Whereas he would never have considered it before, he realized that things seemed to be different here, and people more accepting of his deformity. He looked into Ben's excited gaze and nodded.

"Why not," he sighed. "It appears I have nothing else on my agenda."

Ben stepped closer and reached for a familiar looking vial. "On the contrary, you have a very full day ahead of you, and it's all outside this room. But first--" he uncorked it and reached for a spoon. "Some weaponry for the battle?"

"All right, but I would rather wean myself from depending on that."

Ben measured out the dose into a small glass. "You can discuss that with Dr. Arnand tomorrow." Realizing Ben must have helped care for him, Erik dropped his hand away from his face, though he kept his head turned away just enough to prevent Ben from staring at it.

"Has it already been a week?" he objected, reaching for the glass and downing its contents. He winced at the taste. "I seem to have lost track of the days."

"It has," Ben answered, taking the glass from him. He turned to the wheeled chair with sudden haste. "I almost forgot," he apologized, pulling out a familiar looking leather bag. "With all the excitement this seems to have been overlooked."

"I had forgotten all about it," Erik answered, deciding against telling him that he had never planned on taking it with him.

"No one has gone through it except Meg—" Ben explained, handing it to him. "She dried everything out and Arlene laundered all your clothes, which are now hanging in that wardrobe. And now, it finally makes its way back to you."

Erik looked up. "Arlene?"

"Pieter's wife," Ben explained, moving toward the wardrobe. "Haven't you met her?"

Erik shook his head, watching Ben open the doors to reveal a neat row of clothing hanging there, recognizing it as his. He was struck quite suddenly with an intense desire to get dressed and out of this room. "I didn't know Pieter had a wife," he said carefully.

Ben chuckled and turned to select a pair of dark brown trousers. "You really do need to get out."

Resolved to accomplish that goal, Erik threw back the bedcovers and eased his hands beneath the heavy wrapping encasing his leg. Gritting his teeth, he slowly moved it to the edge of the bed, shifting his heel to the pillow sitting atop the ottoman which had thankfully be left at the side of his bed. Breaking out in a sweat, Erik panted and rested from his efforts as Ben laid out his clothing on the bed.

"We had to alter one leg to accommodate the bandages," he informed Erik as he bent to ease it over his foot. "It can be re-sewn later."

Erik gripped the edge of the mattress as he attempted to hold up his injured leg. "I am hardly accustomed to having a personal valet."

Ben laughed. "Enjoy it while you can--the stitches will probably be removed tomorrow," he said, easing the other pantleg over his good foot.

"Then I graduate to crutches?"

"Of course, but even better--you'll be able to have a full bath," Ben said, shifting his arm behind Erik's back as he helped him to stand. Once the trousers were pulled up he left Erik to fasten the waistband and turned to pour water into the washbasin. "By the way, can you swim?"

"Yes," he replied, tossing his nightshirt aside and taking the soaped washcloth handed to him. "Why?" he added, washing under his arms and finding the prospect of a full bath inordinately tempting.

"We have a lake here, fed by warm springs," Ben told him. "Swimming will help you recover the use of your leg much sooner."

Erik finished washing his chest and neck. "I look forward to it."

Ben threw him a towel and began to mix the shaving soap Meg must have packed for him. "Did she tell you about me?" he asked Erik casually.

He did remember her mentioning a brother. "She did, but I haven't a clear recollection of the journey here."

"Oh, make sure you read the note in your bag," Ben said suddenly. "She found it and was able to dry it out without opening it--it's in the inside pocket."

Erik glanced suspiciously at the bag. "What kind of note?"

Ben tapped the brush as he mixed the cream. "I have no idea, but it looks like Louise's handwriting."

Erik tossed the washcloth back into the basin and bent to his bag. Flipping it open, he pulled out a wrinkled envelope, immediately recognizing the handwriting. Alarm shot through him but he tucked it into his pants pocket as Ben turned with his razor and shaving mug in hand, his gaze expectant.

"I'll read it later," Erik explained, reaching for the razor.

After shaving himself and enduring an arduous effort of pulling on his boots, Erik eased into the chair feeling exhausted. He watched as Ben carefully settled his leg onto the elevated foot rest, feeling like throwing something he was so frustrated. By the time he was turned to face the door he finally relaxed his grip on the arms of the chair.

"Don't worry, you're managing well enough," Ben told him as he maneuvered the front of the chair through the threshold. "Of the few patients I've seen in your condition, you are by far the best behaved."

Erik bit back a shout of laughter. "Best behaved?" he exclaimed, craning his head to look up at Ben. "That is one title I've never earned in my entire life!"

Ben only nodded, intent on maneuvering the chair out into the hall. Once they were through, he retook his position behind Erik and began to roll him down the corridor.

"Shouldn't I be managing this myself?" Erik asked, his eyes scanning the lavishly decorated hallway with interest.

"Not yet--have patience, Erik."

"I barely know what that is," he snorted back.

"I remember taking care of someone who was so enraged that he threw a chamber pot at me."

Erik winced. "I hope it was empty."

Ben laughed. "Thankfully, it was--I was blessed to be so spared."

They circled downward along a wide ramp that led to different floors, and Erik found his attention captured by the oddly constructed building. There were three floors with hallways opening off each. Beyond them he could see at rooms down each corridor, yet the building seemed empty and silent. It was obviously an infirmary of some sort, yet it appeared that he was the only patient.

"What is this place?" he thought aloud.

"A hospital--but you knew that."

Erik shook his head. "I had thought I was in someone's home."

"You don't remember arriving here, do you?"

"No--if this is a hospital, where are the other patients?"

"You are the only one in the building," Ben said after a moment, and Erik didn't press him for details. They had reached the ground floor where a set of double doors stood open. He watched Ben push a lever at his feet before he left his side. Going to a bench by the door, he lifted the upholstered seat and removed a folded blanket.

"Are you only helping me because of Meg?"

Ben came back toward him and began to unfold the blanket. "In a way, yes, though it is part of my job as a physician in training."

Erik stared at him a moment. "A physician? I thought you were just helping out."

Ben chuckled good naturedly. "Do I appear that inept?"

"Hardly--you seem quite capable," Erik stated, allowing him to tuck the blanket around his legs against the stiff, cold breeze which gusted in through the open doors. "I assumed that because this was a parish, you were a cleric or priest."

Ben laughed heartily and straightened from removing the brake. "Not exactly," he replied, moving behind him once again. "Now sit back and enjoy the tour."

They descended a small ramp to meet a well worn path, stung by the crispness of fresh, springlike air. Blinking in the bright sunlight, he found himself wheeled speedily along a shrub lined path. Gazing up at the sky and over arching trees, Erik felt something drape over his shoulders and grasped it close as he drank in their surroundings. Far overhead small white clouds floated lazily across an incredibly blue sky. Birds chirped and darted among the flowering shrubs whose newly opening blossoms emitted a faint fragrance he could not identify. Having been confined in the city for many years, he felt overwhelmed by the natural beauty of this place.

Unaware of his reaction, Ben pointed out different landmarks along their route as they passed well maintained buildings. Erik kept his face averted, afraid that someone would see him. He had no idea how long a journey they faced before reaching Pieter.

"That's the laundry on your left, across from it is the carpentry shop. And next is, of course, the bakery," Ben's voice breathed in anticipation. The fragrance of baking bread drifted toward them, and as they passed by, sweeter scents mixed together with it, making Erik's mouth water. He thought of Timmy working there and realized that several days had passed and he had not seen him. In fact, whereas being alone had always been his normal state of affairs, he found that he missed him, Pieter and Meg. His meals had been delivered by an older woman who only gestured but said nothing. An older man had seen to his toilette and other needs, also remaining strangely silent. His only companion had been the well worn copy of Holy Scripture which oddly enough drew him with an astounding hunger to learn more of its content. Just the previous night he had completed the entire book and gone back to the section Pieter had read to him. The one that had matched his vision and now only seemed to ignite his hunger to learn more.

"They are baking something special, by the scent of it," Ben commented as they swept past the long, low building.

"Does Timmy work there?" Erik asked distractedly, for he was rolling past lanes of small stucco homes.

"Usually, but he just became a father once again, so he's home helping with the older children."

Erik glanced up at him. "Timmy has a family?"

Ben nodded. "A wife and three children—a boy of 10 years, a six-year-old girl and a baby girl I helped deliver two nights ago."

Timmy a father? He was so much like a child himself, Erik thought, wondering if he would ever meet his family.

"They live at the end of that lane," Ben told him.

Erik studied the neat little houses with sudden interest, finding each brightly painted and decorated with newly awakening gardens. Some had flowering trees in their well kept yards, and as they approached a larger home he saw two small children run out a side door, squealing with delight. He eyes were drawn to them and an unexpected yearning rose within his soul. What would it be like to have his own home, or even more impossibly, his own family. Frowning, he forced the thoughts from his mind and concentrated on Ben's description of the carriage shop, reminding himself that he had to leave here as soon as he was able.

"Pieter, as you will see, lives next to the church; he will be waiting with breakfast for you in his office there."

"Where do you live?"

"Over the library, when I'm not staying at the infirmary."

Erik's eyes followed the wave of Ben's hand toward the direction of which he spoke. "There is a library here?"

"Yes, a very large one and filling up with new volumes every week or so--off to the right are the stables: I think your horse is out already."

_Prince._ Erik shifted his attention to the dozen or so horses gathered in the distance beneath a huge oak tree. Beyond the wooden fence he could see them grazing slowly along the edge of the forest. Then his eyes caught a familiar sight, and he smiled in recognition. Prince's coat was so shiny it caught the sunlight, and Erik longed to take him for a ride beneath the blossom laden trees, down the winding road and out toward the distant foothills he could see rising up along the horizon.

"Isaac is the stable master," Ben continued. "You probably don't remember him, but he helped carry you in the night you and Meg arrived...we still tease her about how she managed to hold you up for so long."

_Where was Meg?_

"Once you get up and about, Isaac will help you relearn how to mount and dismount, and you can take him out for exercise."

They turned a wide circle and the other side of the parish came into view, its buildings surprisingly large and elegant in design. _Who built this place? _he wondered. _And why would a hospital be here, in such remote surroundings?_

"That is the church, of course, and the school is attached, there on our left," Ben announced as they drew near. The entrance consisted of two wide double doors, both carved with intricate designs of flowers and birds. "Only one step up," Ben said encouragingly, coming to a halt at the foot of an expansive covered boardwalk that ran the length of the building, ending at the far corner of the adjacent school building. It had many wide windows along its face, was painted pale green and boasted rows and rows of garden plants along its front face.

"What kind of school?" Erik asked as Ben lowered the footrest and turned his chair around. He gripped the arms and tensed at the pain shooting up his leg, despite the medication he had taken earlier.

"Hang on until I hoist you up," he was ordered. To his surprise, the chair tilted backward and he found himself leveled onto the planking of the floor.

"Primary grades, after which Pieter and Arlene divide up the children for classes in this building," Ben breathed, turning him to face the double doors. "Meg helps tutor and teaches children's ballet classes whenever she visits."

So Meg was a teacher... Intrigued, Erik wondered what she would be like out from beneath her mother's critical eye. He had only caught a glimpse of it on the way here, and when she had visited his room. Suddenly, he realized he wanted to see more.

Ben propped both doors open and wheeled him into a brightly lit foyer before stooping to apply the brake lever. He stood before Erik, hands on his hips.

"I have to get back--wait here and someone should be out to meet you."

Erik thanked him as he scanned the interior of the church foyer, his eyes drawn to the massive window of colored glass before him. Hearing Ben's retreating footsteps as if in a dream, his attention was captured by what he saw in the window's design. The scenes depicted in the patchwork of colored glass were remarkably similar to those in his dreams, when he lay fighting for his life. Astonished, his gaze traveled along the same the crystal river and flowers lining its banks, swept upward to marvel at the rainbow colors that were so familiar. The only thing missing was--

"Good morning—" a woman's voice called, tearing his attention from the window. He saw an older woman coming toward him, tall and thin, her long graying hair sweeping down the side of her royal purple dress. His hand shot up to cover his cheek as he rested his elbow on the arm of the chair. This must be Pieter's wife, he guessed, for she looked closer to his age. And her expression bore the same light and peace as Pieter's had.

"I'm Arlene," she said, stopping at his right side and extending her hand. Her eyes smiled down at him as she waited, forcing him to lower his hand in order to clasp hers. And when he did, her face beamed with quiet joy. "You look much healthier than the last time I saw you, Erik."

He swallowed, loosening his hand as hers tightened. "Madame--"

"Please, call me Arlene," she chuckled, her voice young and feminine. "Such titles make me feel so old--how is your leg?"

He felt her finally release his hand, but her eyes held his. "Recovering, I think," he answered, his gaze drawn back to the window. Suddenly it occurred to him she might think him rude, but before he could look back she gasped in surprise.

"You like my window!" she said happily, gripping his arm.

He looked up, held her dancing eyes and nodded. "Very much...I feel as though I have been there."

She released his arm to clap her hands once. "You are not the first person to say so!" she said excitedly.

As he looked at her in surprise Pieter came around the corner. "Erik! You are early," he said, coming toward them. "I see you've met my wife."

He went to her side and put his arm around her shoulders. Erik watched in fascination as she looked up at him, resting her hand on his chest. Feeling somewhat embarrassed, Erik looked back to the window.

"I was just admiring her window," he told Pieter. "It is quite beautiful."

"It is a true masterpiece," Pieter agreed, pulling his arm from his wife. "I'm not quite ready to meet--would you mind waiting in my office? It should not be much longer."

"Not at all," Erik answered, feeling awkward when Pieter came behind him and turned his chair toward another set of open doors.

"I will bring in some coffee," Arlene replied, glancing at her husband. "Luncheon will be served promptly at noon," she announced, looking meaningfully at Erik. "And Meg will be joining us."

Sensing that they were waiting for some kind of reaction from him, Erik nodded curtly, not wishing for them to detect his eagerness to see Meg again. After a moment Arlene smiled up at Pieter as she patted Erik's shoulder and dismissed herself. Pieter crossed his arms and stood standing over him. I_ have to leave here,_ he reminded himself, _as soon as I can ride._

"Well, you certainly have a beautiful day for your first venture out," Pieter stated purposefully, moving around behind him to grip the handles of his chair. To his dismay, Erik found himself quickly propelled into a large room before he could place his hands on the wheels and attempt to move himself. "You can wait here, in my office," he was told as he was pushed up to an enormous desk.

The room was lit by huge windows opening beneath what appeared to be the eastern exposure. Beams of sunlight streamed down over walls of books and illuminated the two long tables and chairs with golden light. To his left a large hearth dominated the wall and bore a crackling fire. The mantle was crowded with candles and there a large clock ticked softly. Erik gazed out at the garden beyond the window to his right, feeling somewhat unsettled. He sensed the importance of this meeting, but had no idea what was to be discussed. Pieter gathered a few papers from the top of his desk and looked up.

"I will be right back," he reminded him. "Make yourself at home; Arlene should be right back with some breakfast."

"All right," Erik answered, not bothering to turn and watch him leave. When silence settled back around him, he faced Pieter's desk and took a deep breath. Aware of the fact that Pieter had closed the doors behind him, Erik pulled the envelope from his pocket to study it. It was wrinkled from the rain but had dried intact, the script that had written only his name virtually unmarred. With a sigh he broke open the seal and carefully unfolded it. To his astonishment, several bills fell onto his lap, which he picked up and tucked back into the envelope without taking note of them. Instead, he lifted the letter and read it, his eyes moving rapidly over the lines.

_Dearest Erik,_

_I trust that by the time you read this Marguerite will have convinced you to go to the safe place I directed her, and that you both arrived safely. It is my hope that once you get away, you will gain a new perspective concerning the past few months. It is not, however, only for __your sake that I have had her bring you there. I regret to inform you that she is in danger once again, for I have received reports of the "ghost" of J.B. having returned. Even worse, his brother was seen in the stables last night, yet was thankfully interrupted from whatever task he had planned in being there. This forces me to lay aside my concerns for __your unfortunate situation to focus upon this new threat. Although I regret placing any additional burden upon you, I feel I must plead for your protection over Meg once again._

_Knowing you to be a good and honorable man, I appeal to you and ask that you give Marguerite your name and make her your wife--you are the only one I trust with her future. I am confident that, given time and better circumstances, you will prove an excellent husband to her. She is very fond of you and even more importantly trusts you, as do I. It is my belief that only you can help her overcome her fears, and that she will in turn prove a balm to your own soul. I do confess to having prayed that you would both come to this decision on your own, but that prayer has unfortunately gone unanswered. __I pray that you will someday forgive my interference by asking this of you. Try to envision how we might all benefit from such a marriage. Marguerite is completely unaware of both my thoughts and this request, as well as the danger she is in. In anticipation of your honoring my request,__ I enclose part of her dowry, which is your due to receive. Pieter is an ordained minister and will help you. Though I regret not witnessing your vows, I would be greatly relieved should you marry quickly and in my absence. Your safety and happiness are more important than my longing to be with you. I pray you will see the wisdom of my request and honour it. I am forever grateful to you, and send you both my deepest __love... __Louise_

Stunned, Erik lifted his eyes to the windows, his heart pounding. The beauty and peace he saw beyond them did little to calm the war of emotions raging within him. Absently refolding the letter, he tucked it back into the envelope and into his pocket without looking.

_Marriage?…to Meg?_ He didn't know whether to scream in frustration, or shout for joy. Running a hand over his face, he closed his eyes and leaned his chin into his hand, jabbing his elbow into the arm of his chair.

Surely Louise knew how unfit he was, especially for marrying anyone, and especially now! How could she ask it of him, pressuring him and alarming him with news of the brothers Buquet coming back? He was just as much a criminal as they were, only one running from the authorities. He had no plan for his own life, let alone the life of another. He opened his eyes and stared out the windows, forcing himself to consider Meg's safety. Surely she would be protected here, with or without him, but would she stay? Her mother had no plan to come here, and Meg would surely want to return to her mother. He shook his head, picturing her returning home unaware of the danger her mother no doubt wished her to remain unaware. Although he did not wish to return there, he knew he would do it if only to protect her, as he had done in the past. And Louise knew that.

Still, he could hardly ask her to marry him and throw her life away! Meg was young and beautiful. She could have any man she wanted. She needed someone who was powerful and settled, someone who could give her a good life and see to her protection. He, on the other hand, had nothing to offer her but his own strength and vigilence. And his friendship.

Then her face flooded his memory, forcing him to confront the interest he had read in her eyes when she looked at him. It was true that he could not deny the current of desire that flowed between them, however unexpected and preposterous. The easy friendship which had developed between them was encouraging, but was it enough to build a marriage upon? Louise's letter haunted him, reminding him of that which he had sensed since finding her in that dark alley three years ago, bravely trying to fight off the men attacking her. _She trusts you..._After he had rescued her and called her name, once she recognized his voice she had gripped him in desperation and let him carry her home to her mother. She had clung to him and for the past two years had left him notes asking to see him again. Her offerings of small gifts had also gone unanswered, and he had not been near her until the night she ran out of the tunnel after him.

_...She trusts you..._He thought of the Buquet brothers coming back to threaten her yet again, despite all his intervention to deter them. Grinding his jaw in frustration, he gripped the arms of his chair and faced the reality of his suspicions, now confirmed by Louise's letter. They were the masked men trying to stealing the horses, he realized. They had fought him and stabbing him, and now they knew he had Meg. He owed it to her, and to her mother, to do as he was asked. Throwing his head back he sighed in frustration. The whole idea was ridiculous...impossible...yet, in a way, it was also frustrating simple, at least in theory.

Erik lowered his gaze to Pieter's desk, steeling himself for the inevitable. He had been sent here, that much was obvious. Meg had cp,e after him with his bag packed, feeling sorry for him. Louise had tucked in her plan for the future and had effectively backed him into a corner of decision. Even in his delirium his vision had guided him back to the Father he never knew. Arlene's window added to the mysterious plan laid out before him. As he narrowed his gaze upon the papers and files strewn across the pastor's desk, he sensed another stepping stone set before him, not sure he wanted to take it. But he knew without a doubt that there would be no going back.


	11. Chapter 11 The File

_**Chapter 11 – The File**_

"Don't worry--I'll be right back."

Recognizing Arlene's voice and remembering that she had said she would return, Erik straightened in the chair. Forcing himself to look calm, he heard the door open and her quick steps come up behind him. Catching a glimpse of her flowing dress as she passed him, he lifted his eyes to her profile.

"Here I am again," she announced, sliding a heavily laden tray onto Pieter's desk. With her arrival came a tantalizing aroma of coffee and sweets, and he realized how hungry he was. She turned to him face him, her hand on one of the cups.

"Breakfast is served," she stated the obvious, her eyes holding his. "May I pour you a cup of coffee?"

He nodded. "It smells wonderful." He could not remember the last time he had a cup of coffee, or a sweet. She poured what looked like very dark, strong coffee into a worn china cup.

"Cream and sugar?"

"Just cream, thank you."

She handed it to him and he lifted the cup from the saucer, inhaling its steamy fragrance. Tasting it hesitantly, he looked up into her waiting gaze.

"Excellent," he pronounced, drinking half the contents.

Her smile faded a bit, her brow creasing with concern. "You look a bit more pale since before--are you in pain?"

Forcing the memory of Louise's note from his mind, he glanced down at his padded wound. "It serves to remind me that I still have a leg."

She leaned back against the desk, her hands gripping the edge. "Sometimes pain is better than feeling nothing at all."

Their eyes held and he felt as if she had invaded his mind and read his thoughts. Or perhaps Meg told her about his behavior at the opera house? Unsure of how to reply, he was relieved when she turned to picked up a croissant. This she plunked onto a small plate and handed to him, along with a napkin. The warmth in her eyes gave him the strangest sensation that he had just acquired a mother, whether he wanted one or not. She watched expectantly as he took a bite.

Swallowing, he nodded toward the plate of pastries. "Will you not join me?"

"I ate earlier," she excused herself. "And we are already in the throes of preparing lunch."

He sipped his coffee. "We?"

"Meg and I," she answered, pulling away from the desk. "We wanted to make you a nice meal, in honor of your getting out and about. Would you like anything else before Pieter returns?"

He held up a hand. "This is delicious, but quite adequate, thank you."

She came closer and grinned, her eyes shinging with teasing. "Such impeccable manners! You are more of a gentleman than I originally thought."

He frowned, lifting his cup to hide his embarrassment.

"Perhaps another cup of coffee," she suggested.

"All right, if you insist."

"I do." She took the cup from his hand and went to pour him another. "Now when Pieter comes in, tell him I said only one pastry," she ordered, handing him back his cup. "You must both save your appetites for lunch; now, I must get back to oversee things. Au revoir!"

He nodded as she passed by, leaving him alone and feeling somewhat unsettled by all the attention. The pastry had been too rich and sweet and he left the rest of it on his plate. Beginning his second cup of coffee, he wondered how he would face Meg, knowing about her mother's request. They would be dining with Pieter and Arlene, without a chance to be alone. Yet, even if he managed to have a moment alone with her, how could he bring himself to mention it? Even worse was the probability that she would reject the proposal outright. He certainly could not blame her for that, but he was not eager for another rejection, at least not this soon after his previous one.

Sighing in frustration, he directed his attention to Pieter's well kept office, noting the importance of order and peace in this realm that was so new to him. Beyond the windows he could see a well kept garden of cultivated flowers and plants, all enclosed by wrought iron gatework that provided the sense of being sheltered in a well protected refuge. What was he doing here, assigned to recover in such a place? It was obviously a second home for Meg, one where she felt he belonged. but only made him feel increasingly foreign and out of place. It was simply not his world.

Drumming his fingers upon the arm of his chair, he wondered what was keeping Pieter. He had no idea what was on the agendas of both their meeting and their luncheon. He looked forward to seeing Meg again, yet when his thoughts returned to the letter in his pocket he was torn with indecision and greatly tempted to ignore it. He should keep its contents to himself and leave this place as soon as he could manage it. According to Louise, Meg knew nothing about the marriage proposal. Failing to mention it to her would keep it between Louise and himself. Even if Meg were to learn about it afterward, surely she would understand why he could not honor it. She would no doubt be relieved after having witnessed his colossal faillure with Christine. How could anyone expect him to become involved in any future relationship? Meg was a great deal more mature than Christine, and she would realize that it was nothing personal. As for her safety, he intended to inform Pieter of the threat from the Buquet brothers. It was obvious that security was an important concern in this place. Meg would be fine here without him and he could leave with a clear conscience. Smiling to himself, he scanned the room again and envisioned himself recovered enough to ride away from here on Prince, leaving behind no regrets.

He leaned forward to place his dishes on the edge of Pieter's desk, his attention drawn once again to the papers set out there. It would violate Pieter's privacy to try to see what they concerned, so he leaned back and waited. As the seconds ticked by as recorded by the mantle clock, his well constructed plan began to be attacked by nagging thoughts.

_But where shall I go? How can I make a living in a strange country? And where else might people overlook a deformed face?_

A delicious aroma began to seep into the room and he felt suddenly guity for planning to leave. He was tempted to envision the women preparing a special meal in his honor, celebrating the beginning of his recovery. They had taken good care of him since his arrival, he had to admit. It was a strangely alluring feeling, being among these people. Though it was difficult to be surrounded by others with little time alone, he found it somehow gratifying. Quite surprisingly they almost seemed to accept him, just as he was. They did not treat him as if he was a burden. Surely they knew he had the potential to act horrendously unpredictable, yet for some strange reason they seemed to want him to stay. But for what purpose? What was Pieter planning on discussing? Suddenly Erik began to examine every possible motive they had for keeping him here and not turning him into the authorities. What was it about them, and this place, that made everything suddenly seem too good to be true?

Massaging a sudden cramp in his leg, he longed to get up and move around but was afraid of falling and embarrassing himself. Sighing with frustration, he continued to work the tight muscles in his thigh toward a more relaxed state. Daring to lift and extend his leg, he grimaced in pain until it was settled outstretched before him, his sock covered heel touching the floor. When it finally eased, he turned his head to look out into the empty foyer. The roasting meat, some sort of fowl he guessed, contniued to tickle his nostrils and reawaken his hunger. Seeing or hearing no one, he turned back and let his eyes wander over the rows of books lining Pieter's walls. It occurred to him that he missed his own library, and he wondered if Pieter owned any of the same volumes. Even more interesting was the prospect of finding other authors in this library, authorities on the Scriptures who might explain more clearly the things he had read therein. In that moment he thought he heard Louise whisper to him, and the sound of her whisper centered upon one name... _Josef Buquet._

Erik lifted a hand to his temple and closed his eyes, realizing he had a responsibilty he could not pretend to ignore. Buquet had returned, despite everything he'd done to prevent it. And Louise's fear was evident in her letter and in her request. Meg could not return to Paris and be safe, he knew it as surely as he knew he could not either. He remembered the first time he'd caught Buquet spying on the women's dressing room. He had to threaten the man to get him to stay away, and for a while it had worked. But when combined with his growing love for the bottle, Buquet's natural inclinations eventually led him back to the same, if not worse, behavior. The man had always been a lecher, rude and coarse, but when he began to drink he lured others into a similar lifestyle. Despite his threats and letters of warning to the managers, they continued tolerate his presence. It wasn't long before Buquet cast his eyes upon Meg, who had grown into a lovely and talented young woman. She of course was completely unaware of his interest, but Erik noticed. And her mother noticed. The day Erik received her note to the Opera Ghost he knew he had to oblige her. If he did nothing she threatened to take Meg and move away and thus deprive him of the only semblance of friendship he had ever known. So he agreed to watch and wait, and so began his campaign of terror against Josef Buquet. It worked until the night Meg and her mother had a heated argument and Meg ran away. Erik lifted his eyes to the serene sky beyond Pieter's windows, remembering.

He had been swimming laps around the underground lake, spending even longer in his attempt to rid himself of his desire for human companionship. Well spent from his efforts, still he'd made his nightly rounds of the dormitories and to his surprise found Louise looking for him. He had rushed out only to find he was nearly too late, and to this day he deeply regretted his tardiness. His rescue had barely prevented her rape, and ever since he had been plagued with guilt and sought a way to make it up to her. Having carried her back home, he had lingered in the shadows of her room, helping her mother care for her and calm her nerves. The police came and left without success in finding her attackers, so it was not long before the phantom received another note, this one outlining a brilliant plan for the demise of Josef Buquet. Unbeknownst to anyone else but him, Louise Giry had proven herself a master at the perfectly executed but fake crime. Erik had to go along with it, for all their sakes.

Erik groaned with remorse, remembering the night he had lured Buquet to the catwalk above center stage. Already too terrified of the phantom to disobey, Buquet had swallowed the sedated wine forced upon him and suffered its speedy effect. Just before passing out his neck was in a noose and he found himself duly warned never to return to Paris again. Erik had tightened the noose a bit more for dramatic effect, slipping a nearly invisible rope beneath Buquet's armpits after he had fallen unconscious. Lowered him from the catwalk by another rope, Erik let him dangle a few moments above the performers until everyone was sufficiently horrified and he was dropped to the floor, presumably dead. It was a new twist in opera production, Erik recalled, one that was highly successful. Having let the body drop quickly, he had snapped up the invisible rope and curled it expertly beneath his cloak. Flying up the ropes to the attic level, he had vanished and concluded a shockingly convincing performance, one which marked the beginning of the phantom's public reign of terror. No one had spied the invisible rope, and in all the excitement no one took the time to discover the victim's slowed and shallow breathing, induced by the drug. The coroner had been conveniently unavailable that night, so after the body had been transported to the morgue no one noticed its being stolen away hours later. By morning Paris assumed the family had come and claimed it, yet the truth came out when Josef's younger brother found him slumped on family doorstep with a note of warning pinned to his jacket. And when he awoke fully, Josef Buquet found his note threatened a real death should he ever be seen anywhere near the opera house again.

Brilliant, Erik thought cynically, one had to admire Louise for her resourcefulness in the face of a failed police investigation. But now Buquet had come back, accompanied by his brother. The question was, were they actually looking for Meg, or more understandably for revenge on the phantom? Louise must be correct, he thought, for who else would have saddled Prince, his own horse, taking the others only for additional profit? Surely they wanted to punish him, not Meg. Though it was dark and they were masked, Erik sensed all along it had been Buquet who had stabbed him. Though he preferred to take the opposite direction from Paris, he knew he had to go back. Whereas before he knew he had to take responsibility and try to pay for the damage he had caused, now the matter of Meg's safety only added to his reaons to return. He gazed heavenward, longing for the peace he felt just watching the clouds glide by overhead. For someone who had spent most of his life in total isolation, he found himself suddenly and deeply entangled in a complex web of responsibility to others. And one thing became abundantly clear to him as he sat there deep in thought: he was no longer alone.

"Some mornings are just too busy for my taste," Pieter said, touching Erik's shoulder as he passed by on the way to his desk.

Startled from his thoughts, Erik shot upright in the chair, watching Pieter pour himself a cup of coffee. He wiped a hand over the right side of his face as if to erase any signs of distress that might be noticed.

"I didn't hear you come in," he said hoarsely, surprised at the effect his emotions had upon his own voice.

Pieter looked up from the half eaten croissant on Erik's discarded plate. "I'm sorry if I startled you--did you have enough to eat?"

He nodded. "I did, thank you; the coffee is excellent, by the way." Pieter lifted the carafe toward him but he declined more with a wave of his hand.

"My wife likes her coffee strong; it's one of the many things I love about her."

Feeling decidely out of place, Erik nodded as Pieter sat down and bit into a croissant. He chewed while studying Erik's face.

"You look exhausted, even this early in the day," he observed. "I think your pain medication should be increased."

Erik glanced at his outstretched leg. "I thought of getting up and moving around," he admitted.

Pieter set aside his sweet and up."It's good that you waited--how about just a few steps to loosen yourself up?"

With his help Erik managed to walk to the far end of the room and back, lowering himself back to the wheeled chair and feeling like he had just jogged across the province. "That feels surprisingly better," he panted, surprised at his own weakness. "I appreciate your assistance."

Pieter sat back down. "We'll keep the leg elevated until we finish here," he decided for him, taking a drink of his coffee. "Now shall we get to the matters at hand, unless you need anything else or have any questions, of course."

Erik studied him a moment, absently massaging his leg. "I do have questions, but they may just prove a waste of our time."

Pieter frowned. "Don't tell me you're still planning on leaving."

Erik nodded curtly. "I think it would be best, for all concerned."

"Why, because you feel you are a burden, or out of place--"

"Of course I'm out of place!" Erik interrupted, frustrated by his own mood. "My presence here can only bring you trouble, and I don't want that to happen."

Pieter laid his arms along his desk top. "I am prepared to deal with that, but not until after you've had time to recover."

"I doubt either of us can afford to wait."

Pieter held his gaze a moment before reaching down to open a desk drawer. "That depends on you." He slid a file toward Erik, opening it for him to examine. Pulling his chair closer, he leaned over to sift through the papers inside and looked up into Pieter's hesitant look.

"Where did you get all this?"

"Madame Giry, as well as other sources...see how popular you are?"

Erik pulled out the papers written by her hand, his heart turning over. "She has been corresponding with you, about me?"

"No, not only about you--don't be so suspicious, Erik. Louise is Ben's guardian, and he is my assistant after all."

Although he remembered Meg telling him how they had taken Ben in, he worried about the marriage proposal, wondering if Louise had mentioned that. Gathering the envelopes in question together, he held them out to Pieter.

"But these are addressed to me."

Pieter waved a hand. "You were ill for days, and quite frankly I expected the authorities to present themselves at my door by now. What else could I do?"

He returned the papers to Pieter's file and sat back, heaving a sigh. "It wasn't my plan to come here, or to involve Meg."

"She told me all that, but her mother has ways of interfering."

_You have no idea,_ Erik thought, holding Pieter's stare. To his amazement, Pieter smiled.

"She does mean well, Erik: surely you realize that."

Erik leveled a stare at Pieter. "Perhaps you should address the main purpose in bringing me to your office."

Pieter raised his brows. "To let you know of the events occurring back home," he said, tapping the newspaper clippings. "And also to make you an offer."

Erik glanced at the articles. "Go on."

"But let me begin by asking you what you think of the parish. I'm curious to know what your perceptions are."

Erik smiled. "It appears to be a kind of medical asylum reserved for invisible patients--myself excluded."

Pieter laughed good naturedly. "Phantom patients--do continue, Erik."

Erik sat forward, leaning his elbows on the arms of his chair as he clasped his hands together. "You seem to invite the lowest levels of society, treating criminals and fugitives as a specialty, which explains my presence here."

Pieter nodded. "Though you have not witnessed it, we are foremost a parish, with medical missions in a few parts of the world. Because of that we must sometimes offer political asylum from harsh dictatorships whenever patients need a safe place to be treated."

Erik was fascinated. "And you are able to provide that without being challenged?"

"For the most part, yes, due to our higher accountability as a medical and charitable organization. Add to that a fairly neutral government, and you will see how we might enjoy certain freedoms."

Though he wanted to learn more, Erik knew he could not afford the time. "So you knew about me before I arrived on your doorstep."

"Yes, but only coincidentally. Before Ben came here for his training Louise had us investigated. Of course she was also thinking of your predicament, which she mentioned mentioned in one of the letters in this file. I'd like you to take it back to your room later and review it," Pieter said, closing it and handing it over. "There is a shelf underneat the seat of your chair to hold things."

Erik took it and slid it beneath his legs, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of him. He sat back, shaking his head in disbelief."I never knew she wrote of me, to anyone."

Pieter nodded. "We corresponded briefly, and I extended an invitation for you to visit two years ago."

"She never said a thing to me," Erik mused.

"Although she questioned Ben extensively about his work here, she must have decided it was not for you."

Erik felt angered by her secrecy and efforts to manipulate him, especially in light of her recent suggestion that he marry Meg. "Why would she do that?"

Pieter shrugged. "I am sure she had her reasons, Erik. You know her better than I do."

Erik held his gaze. "I wonder," he breathed.

"Try to put yourself in her place, Erik. She was widowed at a young age, left with a child to support. She had already set herself to protecting you, then took in Ben. Her heart is much too large for her means, but she follows it nevertheless. I doubt she can help herself, so how can one fault her for that kind of compassion?"

_I can think of a few ways._ "But I am a grown man," he stated. "She even kept Ben's existence a secret from me. Meg told me about him only a few days ago."

Pieter raised his brows. "Really? Now that I think of it, he never mentioned you, either."

"It appears that neither of us really knows what kind of woman we are really dealing with," Erik stated.

Pieter sat back. "Do not judge her before you have read her letters, Erik--your future was always her concern and she watched you invest your time and talents into the opera. Perhaps she thought it the greater opportunity for you, and if I have heard correctly, the Opera Populaire is the most successful opera on the continent, mostly due to your genius."

Considering Pieter's words, Erik began to view Louise in that light, wondering if perhaps she understood him better than he understood himself. She had been right about his life at the opera house: he had found purpose there, even success, though much of his opportunity had been won through intimidation. He saw himself misjudging Christine and then all that he had worked so hard to create. And Louise had seen through it all, judging by the note he'd just found from her. Could it be that from the beginning she had wanted him to turn his attention toward Meg, not Christine? And now, with her suggestion that he marry Meg, could she prove right again?

"I need to show you something," Pieter interrupted, pulling him out of his thoughts. He held out a document of several pages in length. "This is a copy of documentation from one Inspector Leger of Paris, left with the managers of the Opera. Louise apparently thought you should have it, instead of them."

Erik took it and leafed through the pages, his eyes riveted to the blank signature lines at the bottom of the pages. "When did these arrive?"

"A few days after you did."

"But there are no signatures," he gasped, looking up at Pieter. "They filed no charges against me?"

"That seems to be the case, Erik. Somehow you have managed to have extended to you a great deal of grace."

Erik looked back through the papers, seeing the attached statement without Raoul's and Christine's signatures. "No formal charges filed, from anyone...how can that be?"

"I would say it is because no one feels they could afford the publicity. And they seem to realize that it was you who guided the opera toward its current successes...perhaps they regret their past behavior and desire a new start...not a bad choice, if you ask me."

Erik met his waiting gaze, sensing that Pieter was advising him to do the same thing. "But I am guilty of so many things..."

"Do you regret them?"

"Yes, of course I do, but that does not mean I should go free, aside from the heavy weight of my own guilt."

"None of us deserve forgiveness, Erik, yet sometimes it is extended to us when we least expect it."

Erik thought about his words, then shifted his attention back to the file. He pulled out the newspaper article, beginning to read it with a sense of dread. His eyes caught one line in particular.

"No…" his whispered, placing a hand to his forehead. "Piangi, dead?" How could that be? I only tapped him on the head to take his place as Don Juan…how could he be dead?

"Who is Piangi?" Pieter asked gently.

Erik shook his head in bewilderment. "What a fool I've been…a selfish, angry fool."

Pieter cleared his throat. "If you are thinking of going back, I understand your desire to make things right. But I also believe you would be risking any chances for a fair trial, given the public exposure you have suffered. The death is being investigated, so you haven't all the details yet. There is also a reward out for you, which is apparently quite high."

"So you believe I will have little opportunity to right any of my wrongs."

"That is a distinct possibility," Pieter warned. "You have unfortunately catapulted yourself from anonymity to public scapegoat, if the city is as fond of its opera house as it seems."

"Then what would you advise?"

"Let me have you meet with my lawyer, Erik. He is very good and could prove a valuable intermediary. You may be able to accomplish whatever it is you wish from here, given the proper direction and legal representation. My other concern, and I am not accusing you of neglecting it, is that both Meg and her mother have kept your whereabouts from the authorities, therefore placing themselves in a place of being accountable to the law."

Erik nodded. "Mme. Giry has probably been questioned by this time, yet here I remain, unmolested."

"Perhaps when we see Meg at lunch we should discuss these matters, just to let her know the position she has put herself in," Pieter urged. "It is a good sign that no one has filed any charges against you. That is probably the reason why the authorities do not appear to be as eager in their search for you."

"Please, let me tell Meg in private, if I may," Erik asked. "I did warn her on the way here that she would be seen as my accomplice. It was the reason I tried to send her back, but that proved too difficult."

"Because of circumstance, or because of her own will?" Pieter chuckled. When he receivecd no answer, he sat back. "I am glad you tried, for her sake, but perhaps it was better that you came here. I think we could help all of you, but for now you shall have time to talk it over with her," he agreed. "I do want you to see a lawyer as soon as possible, and I will contact him today."

"Thank you--I cannot allow Meg or her mother to involve themselves further," he replied. Then it occurred to him that if he were to marry Meg neither she or her mother would be prosecuted for helping him.

"Both of them chose to do so, without your knowledge or consent," Pieter reminded him.

"I realize that, but that does not excuse my going along with it."

"Erik, you're recovering from a serious wound, and you cannot travel. We will do what we can while you are here, and perhaps this can all be worked out without returning to Paris."

Erik nodded. "We are forgetting Piangi--if I caused his death everything changes. I will go back, at some point, even if only for my own peace of mind."

"One more thing," Pieter said, changing the subject. "Do you know anything about Meg being in danger? I sensed that in one of her mother's notes, but she did not go into any detail."

Erik nodded. "There is another matter concerning her safety, which I plan to look into when I return."

"Might I help in that? We are very fond of Meg--"

"I need to first discuss that with her in private."

Pieter shook his head in frustration. "I must tell you, Erik--I do not care for secrecy, particularly concerning such a complicated series of events."

"Neither do I, but I am not at liberty to discuss it without Meg's approval--"

"Discuss what?" Meg asked.


	12. Chapter 12 A Table Set

_**Chapter 12 – A Table Set**_

"What can't you discuss without me?" she wanted to know. With one hand on the half opened door to Pieter's office, she watched the concern in his expression shift to a welcoming smile.

"Ah Meg!" he called, beckoning to her to enter."Have you come to collect us for lunch?"

She slowly pushed the door open, studying the broad back and neatly combed hair that could only be Erik's. He sat before Pieter's desk in a wheelchair, but did not turn to acknowledge her. Having heard only the last few sentences exchanged between them, she walked slowly to his side.

"Arlene asked me to fetch you both for lunch," she explained to Pieter, glancing down at Erik. "I thought I heard my name mentioned."

He looked up to meet her eyes, his expression unreadable. "You did."

Although she waited neither offered any explanation as she held Erik's hesitant gaze. Pieter was gathering the papers spread over his desk as he nodded to the chair next to Erik.

"Take a seat, Meg," he asked. "We are nearly finished."

She searched his face as she lowered herself to the chair, then switched her gaze to Erik's profile. He had shifted his attention to the file open before Pieter, giving her the opportunity to study him. He was dressed formally today, wearing his black velvet jacket, the one she had stolen and worn the night they rode here. It covered an incredibly white dress shirt that contrasted elegantly with his dark looks and suit, the sleeves of which were fashionably tailored with a slightly ruffled cuff. He work black pants, one leg of which appeared to have been cut to accommodate the thickly padded length of his injured leg. Only one foot was booted, the other rested atop a small pillow attached to the elevated footrest. Her eyes were drawn along the impeccable tailoring of his long jacket and up over his well muscled arm. She drank in the sight of his clean shaven, finely sculpted jaw, the long sideburns that accentuated his high cheekbone and the strong lines of his forehead and temple. It seemed days since she last saw him, when she had brought a meal up to his room and Pieter had interrupted them. He had enjoyed her company then, she was nearly sure of it. Yet today he barely acknowledged her presence. What could have happened to change his manner toward her? She bit her lower lip, worrying that it had been her mildly flirtatious behavior, though she could have sworn he had secretly enjoyed it.

Just then he turned and met her gaze, causing her to catch her breath. After a moment his eyes softened and the severity in his expression relaxed, as if he knew what she was thinking and understood. But he said nothing.

"So let me know what you think, Erik," Pieter stated, closing the file and tying it to secure the contents. This he extended to Erik, leaning across his desk.

She watched Erik stretch forward to take it, then he placed it on his lap. His strong and well formed fingers cradled it as if it contained precious secrets. Fascinated, she studied his hands, running her eyes up to his wrists and down over the place where his cuffs brushed the tops of his muscular thighs. Realizing the inappropriateness of her interest she shot her eyes up and found him staring at her. Caught in his gaze, she felt it burn into her soul, telling her that he was aware of her interest. His brows lifted in unspoken challenge and she watched the corner of his mouth hint at a smile. She beamed her warmest smile at him as if there were nothing more to her interest than a concern for his health.

"You must be enjoying your first day out, Erik," she stated. "I hope that you are feeling much better."

He nodded. "Well enough."

Flustered by the intensity of his eyes, she looked at Pieter, who was furiously writing something on a tablet. "I am sorry," she breathed, "I've interrupted your meeting."

Pieter looked up, frowning at Erik. "Actually, we were discussing some information your mother sent along to Erik."

"Information?" she replied, shifting her attention to him. "About what?"

She watched as he pinned Pieter with a disapproving look. "Personal matters," he answered, emphasizing the first word.

Feeling a bit awkward at the tension in the room, Meg leaned back in her chair. "I have also heard from Maman, and she reports that the renovations are going well." With her pause Erik returned his attention to her, though Pieter kept up his writing. "The opera has relocated to a wing in the administration building, and rehearsals for the summer have already been scheduled, so it appears things are getting back to normal."

Erik spread a hand over his thigh, massaging it and making her wonder if he might be doing too much for his first day out. He offered no reply, and she looked at Pieter until he noticed her regard.

"Maman has everything under control," she concluded, smiling at Pieter's nod.

"Your mother is very capable," he agreed. "She is managing things while the owners are busy raising funds," he stated. "I believe she has even met with the police."

"The police?" she gasped, turning to study Erik's profile. No wonder he was in a dark mood, she realized. He must be consumed with worry about the repercussions of the fire. "Maman did not mention the authorities in her correspondence with me."

Pieter cleared his throat, glancing at Erik, who remained silent. "They have apparently made a thorough investigation, Meg. Your mother sent along copies of documents to inform Erik that no criminal charges have been filed."

"But that's wonderful news!" she said, glancing back at Erik. He did not seem relieved at all, but stared down at the file on his lap. She returned her gaze to Pieter. "Does this mean they will not be looking for us to question our involvement?"

"I will be returning to meet with them," Erik interjected. "As soon as I am able."

At his words Meg saw visions of the mob coming after him and attacking him. "No, you cannot go back there!" she gasped, glancing to Pieter for support. But he only frowned and busied himself with the tablet, hastily scratching more notes. When she looked at Erik his jaw was set determinedly. "Not yet," she pleaded with him, "especially if there are no charges! There is no need."

His steely gaze hardened. "I must return and face the consequences for what I've done," he insisted. "I will not leave it to your mother to handle things alone, however capable she may be."

"Don't worry, Meg," Pieter soothed. "Things will work out." He shifted his attention to Erik. "It might be worthwhile for you to prepare a written statement, presenting your account of the events leading up to that last night. It will give you something to do while you are recovering. Get legal representation, someone to review your statement and perhaps be an intermediary with the authorities back in Paris."

"That would be a safer approach," Meg agreed. "I fear there will be an uproar if people hear of your return."

"Meg's right," Pieter said soberly. "It may not be safe to return there--not for either of you."

Erik shook his head. "I must go alone."

"No! I'm going with you!" she protested.

He held her gaze, obviously disapproving.

"I should be the one to help Maman," she insisted.

"I disagree."

"But they will tear you apart, Erik!"

"Your disappearance on the same night casts you in just as suspicious a light," he told her. "And you know you are an accomplice in helping me escape."

She felt color rise as they both looked to Pieter for his advice. "I feel no peace at the prospect of your return, Meg," he told her, his eyes shifting to Erik as he tapped his fingers on the file he still held.

"I will prepare a statement for your attorney to review," he answered Pieter. "There are some other things I wish to settle as well; putting them in writing is an excellent idea."

"Good--that settles things for now," Pieter said, resting back in his chair and lifting his cup to his lips.

Breathing a prayer of thanks, she turned to Erik. "Do not worry about Maman—I am sure that if she needed you to do something, she would have already asked you to do it."

To her surprise there was a subtle change in his expression, shifting from grim resolve to indecision. In his eyes she read a longing for something he seemed to decide was unattainable. Her gaze narrowed on his, dropping to the file between his hands. In that moment she knew he was keeping something from her.

"You're right…" he said softly, his voice husky as he looked at her. "She would have already asked it."

"What is keeping all of you?" Arlene complained, interrupting the moment. Turning to find her standing in the same spot she had occupied, Meg noted her puzzled look before she went to Pieter, bending to kiss his cheek. "Just as I thought, but enough business for now. We have a wonderful meal awaiting us!"

Pieter pushed back from his desk and stretched in his chair. "What is that wonderful aroma--your specialty?"

Meg watched Erik slide the file beneath his chair and onto a storage shelf there. When he straightened he held a pair of black leather gloves. These he began to pull on, his eyes on the older couple with undue curiosity.

"Herbed chicken," Arlene announced, placing her hand on Pieter's shoulder. He looked up at her fondly as she tugged his arm. "Come now, all of you."

Pieter got up and offered his arm to his wife, glancing at Meg with a smile."You can show Erik the way," he suggested, following Arlene from the room.

She turned her attention from their departure to Erik, who was gripping the wheels of his chair with gloved hands. His eyes caught and held hers, their hue a silvery green. Her breath caught at their warm regard, and she felt a shiver of pleasure at the back of her neck.

"Go ahead, Meg," he said softly, his lips nearly hinting at a smile. "'Show Erik the way.'"

Meg picked at her chicken, grateful for Arlene's conversational skills. It was a gift, offering hospitality and putting people at ease. Arlene was an expert at making sure the conversation flowed and involved each person. Her current topic was a history of how she and Pieter had met, been friends and then quickly fallen in love and married, all within the timeframe of a season. It was the springtime, and together they had found and started their marriage in the little cabin that sat on the ridgetop a few hundred meters above the valley. Their dreams of ministry eventually led to building the parish over a period of the first ten years of their life together. Though enchanting, it was a story Meg had heard before, so she let her mind drift until she finally lowered her fork to her plate and stole yet another glance at the man seated by her side.

It had taken two full courses to get him to relax, but Arlene had somehow managed it. Meg could see Erik's interest was sincere as he listened intently, asking only a question or two from time to time. She studied the way his fingers twined around the stem of his wineglass. The subtle transfer of his hand to his thigh told her that he still suffered some discomfort, even after Pieter's insistence that he swallow a draught of medication to dull the pain. Lifting her own glass, she took a sip and smiled at Arlene, satisfying her desire to be sure everyone was involved. At the same time Erik lifted his glass and finished his wine, drawing her eyes to the strong column of his throat and Adam's apple that bobbed once with his swallow. Feeling inordinately warm, she set her glass down and flicked her eyes up only enough to watch the way he patted his lips with his napkin. As he nodded to Pieter's comment she forced her eyes off him and gazed beyond the screened in porch toward the lawns. Heat waves danced across her vision, but overhead a breeze stirred the treetops. It had warmed considerably since this morning, and she had long ago left behind her shawl and rolled up her sleeves just above her wrists. The men had discarded their jackets and done the same, only rolling their sleeves to the elbows in an effort to cool off. Pieter had loosened his collar long ago, Erik only just untying his cravat and opening the high collar of his own shirt. She glanced down at his leg, now lowered to fit beneath the table at her side. She wondered how much longer he would tolerate the wheelchair, smiling at the probability that it would not be long. But that would mean he would be thinking of leaving, and her smile faded.

She tried not to think about Paris and what might happen should he go back. Still feeling guilty for not being there to help her mother, she reminded herself that it had been Maman's idea, bringing Erik to Pieter. But Erik was a man of strong will and highly independent, and that meant he would soon tire of the company of others. Daring another glance in his direction, she knew that every moment with him was precious and short lived. But she had thoroughly enjoyed being with him. It was a hopeless fascination, she told herself, noting the subtle changes in him and wanting to be part of the process. Yet darkening all her moments of being in his company was a sense of foreboding which hung over his future. And over hers.

He laughed suddenly, startling her out of her daydreams. It was a warm, deeply masculine sound that jolted her and made her meet his gaze. His eyes were on her, warm and captivating. Not realizing that she smiled back, she laughed despite having no idea what had been so amusing. As the moment slowed to a standstill she suspected the faces around the table were waiting for her to respond in some way. Blushing with embarrassment, she carefully laid down her fork.

"I'm sorry," she admitted softly. "It seems you've all caught me at daydreaming...it must be the heat."

Arlene laughed happily. "It has gotten quite warm in here," she agreed, looking at Pieter. "We were just discussing our upcoming anniversary, and were telling Erik about the children's ballet you directed last year."

She met Erik's half smile before he lifted his water glass and drained its contents as if to dismiss her need to explain. Arlene changed the subject and Pieter joined in. Silently thanking Erik for his subtle rescue, she listened to their account of her escapades with the children, telling herself to pay better attention. When the conversation shifted to the importance of educating children from a young age, she tensed. But Pieter turned toward Erik as he explained how difficult it had been for them to have children in the early days of their marriage. He stated his reliance upon the promises concerning child bearing in the Scriptures, adding that when they finally were able to conceive they adopted as well, finally bringing the total of their family to six, all of whom were married with their own families and living elsewhere.

"They grow up so quickly," Arlene sighed, shaking her head. "You must make sure you never to waste a moment with children, especially when they are babies," she told them. "That is the most precious time of all..."

Heart sinking at the subject they had chosen, Meg glanced at Erik, who seemed to be staring out at the grounds beyond their table. A tiny pulse jumped in his cheek, but he nodded when the conversation slowed to a comfortable pause.

"Well, I think it's time I get back to work," Pieter sighed in resignation, pushing back his chair. "You should get back and rest, Erik."

Arlene squeezed Meg's hand as Pieter bent to elevated the footrest of Erik's chair. "Thank you for helping me prepare everything," she said. "Pieter is going to help me clean up first; you can escort Erik back, if you don't mind."

She nodded. "I would not want him to get lost."

Erik gripped the wheels of his chair, bowing his chin in polite thanks. "It was a wonderful meal, thank you both," he said, his eyes moving to Meg's. "I don't think I've ever had a more enjoyable one."

For the first time she realized that Erik had never dined with others, including herself and her mother. Horrified, she wondered why they had never invited him...or perhaps they had, and he had declined.

"We must do it again," Pieter said, straightening as he put his arm around Arlene. "Why don't you both go by way of the school, so Erik can use the ramp?" he suggested.

Meg nodded, glancing toward the pond and wondering if she should show him the willows there. It was on the way back and somehow she thought he would enjoy it. Even if was only for a short time.

"Keep that leg elevated for the remainder of the day," Pieter told him. "You'll need to compensate for the time it wasn't. By tomorrow Dr. Arnand may start you on crutches."

"I would welcome the change," he breathed, turning himself to follow Meg's lead. Arlene said her goodbyes, already gathering up their dishes.

"Don't forget chapel tonight," Pieter reminded her, lifting the platter of leftover chicken.

Erik looked up at him. "Chapel?"

"We have a sunset service every day but Friday—come if you're up to it. We can discuss the offer I mentioned, otherwise it will wait until another time."

Meg touched the handle of Erik's chair. "What offer?"

"Just business," Pieter said. "It should only take a few minutes, not like today's meeting."

She laughed. "Good—I wanted to show him the telescope as soon as he has a moment."

"Good idea—seeing the stars way up here is very different from seeing them in the city, Erik." Pieter folded Erik's jacket and laid it beneath the seat of his chair. "Well, I had better go help clean up," he stated, waving a hand of dismissal.

Meg met Erik's uplifted gaze and started off, leading the way through the dining room and kitchen and out the side of the parsonage. Acutely aware of his eyes on her back, she turned to smile at him, pointing out the buildings they passed until they were down the ramp and onto the well worn path once again.

"Thank you," she told him quietly, smiling with pleasure at his surprised look.

"For what?"

She gripped one handle of his chair as she came to his side to walk with him. "Rescuing me from my embarrassing lapse of attention," she hinted as she bent toward him.

He pushed off the tops of the wheels with a curt nod. "No problem."


	13. Chapter 13 The Proposal

_**Chapter 13 – The Proposal**_

As she led Erik along the path toward the outlying meadows of the parish, Meg found that she had to walk briskly just to keep up with him. Either his strength was quickly returning or he was eager to get away from the others, for he wheeled himself with only the sparest thrust of his arms. She could see the bulge of muscles in his arms which in the past remained hidden from sight beneath his formal attire. But the day was unusually warm for springtime, forcing her to lift her hair from the back of her neck to cool off. Flipping it over her other shoulder, she glanced down at his open collar and saw that he was perspiring as well. Beads of moisture dotted his neck, one slipping down into the light sprinkling of hair peeking out from beneath his shirt. She stared at it absently, not realizing she was doing so.

"Which way?"

The tension in his voice startled her and she glanced up into his eyes. Had he noticed her stare? Praying that he did not, she looked ahead, noting the upcoming fork in the path.

"Want to go back a different route?" she decided, pointing toward the right. "See some other sights?"

His expression lit with challenge. "How do you know I didn't come this way?"

She sighed dramatically. "You came from the hospital, past the laundry and the bakery."

One dark brow raised up as did the corner of his mouth. "It seems life here is more predictable here than what I first imagined."

"Ben is, especially when he doesn't have much time," she said, dipping her head toward his. "Though I must confess I saw him bringing you the other way earlier."

Something in his eyes changed, but she could not interpret it. "To the right, then," he agreed. "But let me know what to expect ahead of time: I don't like surprises."

She drew back in mock offense. "Why not?"

His gloved hands shoved harder against the wheels to handle the slight incline in the path. "Surprises are risky," he panted, "one may not always know how to respond appropriately."

"I will keep that in mind," she answered, pointing toward the large three story building on their left. "That's the library-- Ben lives on the top floor."

He glanced over at the brick structure. "So he told me," he replied, sounding out of breath.

She wanted to offer to push him but decided against it, thinking he might take offense. "If I remember correctly, you had an extensive library of your own," she said casually.

His gaze shot to hers and narrowed. "You had enough time to sneak around and discover that?"

"It only took a few moments," she smiled without a trace of guilt. "Should I have waited for an invitation first?"

He shifted his gaze ahead. "No, probably not."

"I thought not--see?" she teased. "You're not so mysterious...in fact, I think you're quite predictable."

He choked back a laugh. "You mean boring."

"No, never boring," she mused, keeping her eyes ahead of her but feeling his regard. "That is one thing you will never be."

The path leveled off as they passed the dining hall and marketplace area, both introduced with a few facts she thought he might find interesting. He listened but did not comment, his eyes eagerly taking in every detail of their surroundings. She told him about the livestock and chickens they raised for food, mentioning the vegetable gardens, orchards and vineyard only just being prepared for planting. Finally they came within view of the willow grove and pond where the path ended. She increased her pace to go slightly ahead while at the same time he slowed, his attention on the pond. She gestured toward the half dozen benches shaded beneath the trailing branches of the trees.

"Do you mind?" she asked, glancing back as she headed for the more distant one.

"Not at all," he said, following her until she went to sit down and fan herself. He came up close to her side, pulled on the brake of his chair and placed his hands upon the armrests. "I need a rest," he declared, turning his attention toward the water as he caught his breath.

She watched him absently pull of his gloves as a slight smile lifted his lips with approval. Feeling a rush of happiness, she leaned toward him and smiled at the light breeze coming off the water. As he studied the opposite shore she watched his hand begin to unbutton his waistcoat before pausing in mid air. He looked at her with an apologetic glance.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, his eyes glowing golden green in the light. "I should have asked if you minded..."

Feeling her color rise, she dragged her gaze from the trim fit of his waistcoat to the rippling water. "Of course not," she said huskily. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

From the corner of her eye she was aware of him finishing unbuttoning his vest, as well as his stretching to remove one arm. When he switched to the side nearest her she decided she was being ridiculous. Glancing down, she reached out to help him, grasping the shoulder of his vest as he looked up. His face was very close to hers but he drew out his arm and let her take and fold the vest while he slowly stretched back in his chair. He watched as she placed it on the bench and sat back, smiling at him.

"Thank you," he said softly, his eyes holding hers. "I am neither accustomed to the head of day nor wheeling myself around in a chair." _Nor to anyone attending to my dressing_ she read in his gaze. His eyes took on a hint of blue and in her opinion were by far his best feature.

"The breeze is most welcome," she replied, her voice sounding different even to her own ears. "It should help cool the air."

Pushing her sleeves a bit higher, she shifted her hair to her other side, aware of his eyes following every movement. When she summoned the courage to look into his eyes he glanced away, as if caught indulging in a forbidden pasttime. Smiling to herself she followed the direction of his gaze, watching the trailing willows lift, their branches moving gently through the water. As they sat together she felt a quiet intimacy settle between them, forcing them both to relax. After a moment she heard his sigh of contentment.

"...I never thanked you for bringing me here," he said, his eyes on the stand of trees.

Sensing that he wished to say more she waited, but at his hesitation she shrugged, despite the fact that he could not see it. "No need to thank me," she sighed back. "I was longing to return here and you were the only escort available."

He turned toward her with a doubtful expression. "Your only escort," he repeated thoughtfully. "I find that hard to believe."

She smiled broadly. "I fully admit taking advantage of you, Erik."

His eyes darkened before he looked away, his jaw tight. "Teasing tends to throw a man off balance, Meg."

Admiring the line of his mouth and chin, she glanced up at the way the breeze lifted his dark hair. "But I enjoy teasing you," she admitted, wondering what it would feel like to run her fingers through his hair.

He turned abruptly, his eyes narrowing on hers. "Why?"

She shrugged, making an effort to appear more relaxed than she felt."It's fun, and interesting to say the least," she explained. "You should try it sometime."

He leaned toward her, bracing his elbows on the arms of the chair and lacing his fingers together. "You aren't afraid of me, are you?"

She laughed at his somber expression. "No, why should I be?"

"Perhaps you should."

"I see no reason, considering the fact that I could easily outrun you if I needed help."

He leaned back, laughing despite his obvious shock. "I am sure you could," he agreed.

She smiled, watching the tension drain from him as he studied her critically. "So you have made it your mission then, throwing me off course."

With a grimace, she nodded. "I fear you are in desperate need of it."

The reluctant fascination in his eyes thrilled her, but she didn't want him to know that. She crossed her arms and kept a serene smile in place.

"You cannot make such a declaration with supporting it," he prompted, one hand massaging his thigh.

"The change might do you a world of good," she offered, her eyes dropping to that hand.

"Please continue," he encouraged, his eyes twinkling by the time she looked back up. "You have my undivided attention."

She leaned closer over the arm of the bench. "Wouldn't it be interesting, or even a relief to let someone else steer your course," she quietly proposed, "even if only for a little while?"

He smiled cynically. "You did use the word 'desperate'."

"All right, then perhaps longer than 'a little while.'"

He studied her a moment, as if considering it. "Go on, please."

She nodded, hoping to effectively communicate her encouragement. "It has been my observation that you have already benefitted from the change."

His brows raised. "I have?"

"Most definitely, but what if you were to take a real holiday?" she added, "try letting someone else make your decisions for you?"

He laughed sarcastically. "You do like teasing me."

"I'm serious, Erik! Just look at all you've done so far, letting Pieter and Arlene order you around. They are virtually strangers yet you have trusted them, and now you are reaping the benefits of some much needed rest."

"You're right about that," he replied, glancing away and patting the arms of the wheelchair. "I've never felt so rested or helpless in my life."

_What would it take for him to truly relax? _she wondered, noting the tension which had reappeared. "I'm sorry, Erik; you can hardly rest as a result of your injury."

He laughed harshly."I think we are ignoring the more obvious and unpleasant factors."

Knowing he referred to the events surrounding Christine and the opera fire, she had to agree. "We are not ignoring them," she agreed. "Only setting them aside for now."

He shook his head but would not look at her. "For one thing, you trusted me to bring you here," she offered.

He snorted. "Quite unwillingly, if you remember."

"Well, yes..."

He swung his gaze back to her. "You haven't convinced me."

She smiled weakly. "You did tell Pieter you would accept the advice of an attorney."

"Whether that proves helpful remains to be seen."

"Then you haven't actually trusted anyone, have you?" she said defensively. "Nor do you plan to!"

His eyes darkened as they held hers, and then she realized she had gone too far. When he bent to reach below his chair she sensed he wished to leave.

"Erik I'm sorry!" she said, watching him unfurl his jacket. "I just wanted to help, I didn't mean to—"

"I have something to show you," he interrupted, taking something from the pocket of his jacket. "I have decided to take your advice," he decided, extending an envelope to her. "If you wish to help read this; then make a decision for me."

Searching his eyes and seeing his intent, she took the envelope with some hesitation. "All right; what kind of decision?"

"An important one, as you suggested," he said, nodding toward the envelope. "Just read it."

She stared down at the familiar handwriting with a sense of dread. "But it is addressed to you," she protested.

"It concerns both of us, as well as the future."

She looked up at him, noting the way he steepled his fingers together. "Just one decision, Meg," he said, his voice deeper and huskier.

Slipping her fingers inside she drew out a letter and dropped her gaze to its contents. With pounding heart she read through it, glancing up to see the anguish in his expression. His lips parted to speak as her eyes flooded with tears. Feeling a mixture of betrayal and shame, she could only stare at his lips.

"I'm sorry, Meg," he whispered, waiting for her to look up.

She lowered the letter to her lap."You knew about this," she gasped in accusation, "and you let me embarrass myself all this time--"

"I never saw it until this morning," he denied, his brow furrowed with concern.

She lifted the envelope as proof. "This was dated nearly three weeks ago!"

He spread his hands wide. "I didn't know anything about it! Ben returned my bag just this morning, apologizing for forgetting about it."

"Ben?" she gasped in horror, looking around to see if anyone was about. "He saw this?"

"No--it was still sealed."

Relieved and knowing she should calm down, she turned her attention back to the letter, shaking her head at her mother's cunning manipulation. "I would never have imagined she could do such a thing!" For the first time she thought about how he must have taken it and looked up apologetically. "Erik, I had no idea Mother even thought of--"

"I know you didn't," he said gently. "She made that very clear in the note."

She'd been flirting with him—making a fool of herself while her mother was pressuring him to marry her! Too embarrassed and agitated to sit still, she got up and began to pace before him. "I fear my mother has lost her mind from worry!"

He watched her pace back and forth, his expression empathetic. "She only wants you safe."

She stopped and shook the letter at him. "She's forcing you to marry me!"

"No, she is not—"

She began to pace again, angry at her mother but not wishing to accuse him. "This is unbelievable!" she blurted out. "I never knew I had a dowry! And Josef Buquet is long dead—" she declared, stopping to face him. "We all rejoiced when you got rid of him!"

His brows shot up. "Should I be flattered by that?"

"But you didn't really kill him, did you?"

"Apparently not," he quipped. "Though we wanted to. Your mother and I always suspected that he and his brother were responsible for attacking you."

"I never saw who it was—" she began to say just as another thought occurred to her. "They were there that night! Trying to steal the horses!"

"If the rumors are true, it seems that they were."

"Then one of them stabbed you!"

"And now they know we are together."

She held his worried gaze and swallowed. "Then we are both in danger."

"It's very likely," he agreed, watching her slowly sit down again.

She turned to study him a moment. "I always had trouble accepting the fact that you were a murderer…"

He grimaced. "Thank you, I think…"

"In fact," she added, "the more I thought about it, the more I doubted you could murder anyone."

"I'm flattered."

"At least the Erik I knew could not have murdered anyone."

He lifted a hand to massage the back of his neck. "Don't be so sure."

"But you were only trying to keep us all safe."

"To the best of my ability."

She dropped her eyes to the letter, rereading the part about the proposal once again. "This, however involves much more than keeping me safe."

"No one will force you to marry me," he said angrily.

She looked up, realizing he misunderstood. "That's not it, Erik! You know how fond of you I am! What I object to is her complete disregard for your feelings. She has thrown the burden of my problems onto you when you already have more than enough of your own!"

"You're not a burden—"

"I'm so sorry, Erik! Please forgive her, and me! I would never take advantage of your situation, I was just teasing—"

"Stop apologizing!" he shouted, closing his eyes in frustration.

She winced, watching him carefully. Releasing a tense breath, he looked into her eyes.

"Now what do you think of others making decisions for me?" he asked more gently.

"This isn't a choice it's an ultimatum!" she protested, stuffing the letter back into the envelope."She's manipulating both of us—"

"Yet a choice has to be made," he insisted, his face grim. "And I'm asking you to make it."

"But I had no idea it was that kind of choice!"

"It is typical of choices I have had to make," he said, running a hand through his hair. He looked exhausted, if not in some amount of pain.

She stared at him, suddenly exhausted herself. In that moment she knew she had over reacted. Worse, she had forgotten all about his problems, which were much more serious than hers. When he looked deeply into her eyes, she felt a strong bond with him which she could not explain.

"Maybe she's right," he sighed, putting a hand to his head.

Tugging away a strand of hair the breeze had blown against her mouth, she studied his expression. "What do you mean?"

He took a moment to be sure they were alone, then leaned closer. "Whether they were the ones who sent us off or not, the Buquet brothers have been spotted around the opera house, despite dire warning to stay away."

She nodded, her thoughts centered on his last few words. "What kind of warning?"

He looked away. "Never mind—just know that it was a serious warning."

"By you?"

He met her gaze. "Yes, by me—the fact is that your safety must not be underestimated--"

"Don't even consider marrying me out of a sense of duty, Erik," she interrupted.

He shook his head. "There is more to it than that, if you will admit it."

She eyed him critically. "Would you have even considered marrying me before seeing that note? Or before knowing about a dowry?"

He nodded toward the envelope she still held in one hand. "Look inside: I didn't even take it to see."

It was then that she saw the money, tucked low into the bottom seam of the envelope. Judging by the number of notes it was a fair amount. She looked up. "I still feel as if I am being treated like property, and you didn't answer the first part of the question."

He gripped his thigh, absently massaging it while his eyes held hers. "All my life I have lived alone--"

"Things can change, Erik."

"And now I am a fugitive from the law--"

"So am I."

He shook his head in frustration. "I have nothing to offer you, Meg--no home, no means of support—"

"All of that is temporarily," she reasoned, both in her own mind as well as verbally. "You've been through a terrible ordeal--"

He pointed a finger at the deformed side of his face. "Look at me!" he ordered, his expression tortured.

She obeyed, running her eyes slowly over his face. All of his face. "I am looking, Erik…I have been looking, and I like what I see."

He dropped his hand to his lap. "Maybe you can see more than most, but that does not change the fact that I must hide from the world! How could I ask you to share that fate?"

Tempted to mention his asking Christine to do exactly that, she lifted her chin. "You said it was my decision, not yours."

"Yes, but it remains a decision to throw your life away."

She stared at him in amazement."Throw my life away? Erik, I am 21 years old and still unmarried--what would I be throwing away?"

He looked frustrated with her interpretation. "I also happen to be 32 years old—"

"But I like you and even better, my mother approves of you when she has never approved of anyone before! Don't you realize how rare that is?"

For a moment he seemed to consider her point, but then shook his head. "I have no future beyond returning to Paris and taking responsibility for all that I've done—"

"I will go with you."

"You're forgetting the Buquet brothers--it's not safe!"

"You will protect me as you have always done before!"

"Not when it was truly important!"

To her surprise she saw guilt in his expression before he looked away. He had rescued her from the two men who attacked her, for which she would always be grateful. "I was the one who ran away that night, Erik! It was hardly your fault."

He looked back into her eyes. "I may very well end up in prison."

"But there are no charges filed against you, Erik."

"It is still a possibility if I cannot repay the damage I've done."

"If you go to jail I will wait for you!" she stated, though she had difficulty imagining how. "Would they let me visit you?"

"Can you not see that must not happen?" he objected. "You are young and beautiful, Meg--you have your whole life ahead of you!"

They stared at each other in silence before she found her voice. "...you think I'm beautiful?" she whispered.

"Of course I do," he stated. "And what about your dancing? You cannot give that up, nor deny yourself a home of your own and children--"

It was then that she realized he had already thought through everything, as if he actually considered marrying her. Picturing him doing so warmed her heart. "You wish to discuss our children?" she smiled shyly.

He gripped the arms of his chair. "Your children, Meg—your future!"

Noting the hint of vulnerability in his eyes she leaned closer. "You're afraid, aren't you?" she whispered. "Afraid of marriage...and of having children."

He stiffened. "Haven't I reason to be?"

She saw the nerve jump in his cheek, but said nothing. After a moment he sighed deeply, shaking his head. "I cannot believe we are discussing children…" he said, half to himself.

Fighting the sudden urge to throw her arms around him, she sensed how close he was to giving up the idea of marriage. "If we were so blessed, they would be accepted and loved, regardless of their appearance."

His eyes filled with pain and regret. "I cannot risk it—" he said hoarsely.

"We could live here--we could have a good life--"

"I doubt that is even possible."

"All right," she stated, crossing her arms. "Since we both find this decision too difficult then let it be made by Maman! As you said, maybe she is right. Maybe we should just do as she suggests..."

He looked away, obviously struggling with the decision. She waited, and he seemed to wilt before he turned to face her again. "It might benefit our current situation, but given the circumstances it would have to be a marriage in name only," he said carefully.

Her heart sank, but she forced herself to look calm. "But why, Erik?"

His jaw clenched. "Then if we should be parted, you would be free to seek an annulment..."

"I said I would wait for you," she said in a small voice. "I meant it."

"I cannot let you do that!"

"I reserve the right, and I insist."

He looked at her then, his expression guarded. "As I said, it's your choice, but subject to my conditions."

Off in the distance she saw a movement; someone walking across the commons. When she recognized that it was Isaac, she knew he was looking for Erik. Looking back into his eyes, she saw the grim determination there.

"You are serious about this..."

He nodded. "I must be."

She straightened her shoulders. "All right...if you are marrying me to protect me, then it will be necessary to live together."

"I realize that."

"And travel together—if you return to Paris, I accompany you."

He seemed to falter a moment. "Provided we have a means to ensure your safety should I not be able to do so."

"All right, Ben could come with us, but no one must know the conditions on our marriage--especially not my mother," she insisted. "It's too humiliating."

"People marry for convenience all the time," he offered.

She frowned. "I don't."

His eyes held hers a moment. "All right--we will conduct ourselves in a manner befitting any normal couple, except in situations where my appearance would cause disruption."

Isaac called out for Erik, waving his arm. He turned around. "It appears I am being summoned."

"Isaac's coming to take you back."

He looked at her with a mixture of compassion and regret. "Think about it; let me know of your decision when you are sure."

She put a hand on his arm. "We are friends, aren't we?"

Isaac called again, and Erik's expression tensed. She knew he wanted the discussion ended.

"Yes, of course--"

"Then I want us to marry."

His eyes lit with suspicion. "Take the time, Meg--there is much to consider--"

"I've decided," she insisted, keeping the letter but extending the envelope to him. "And as my fiancé, you must manage my dowry--this belongs to you."

His eyes held hers, then he took it, tucking it into the pocket at his hip. "Keep this just between us, at least for now?"

She nodded, watching him pull on the gloves.

"Will I see you tonight?" she whispered. "At chapel, or afterward?"

"I've been looking all over for you two," Isaac called out, coming toward them.

He nodded. "I look forward to it."

Once in his room, Erik found Isaac uncharacteristically firm in making him to take his medication, change his clothes and rest in bed with his leg up on a pillow. Despite his impatience, Erik felt immediately better. Isaac warned him that he would need his strength for the following day when Dr. Arnand was expected, and that if he was declared ready they would begin him on crutches. Thanking him, Erik was grateful when his door was shut and he was finally alone.

Feeling the medication begin to work, he lay on his back, hands behind his head. The day had passed too quickly, with too many changes. His thoughts were in turmoil over Mme. Giry's proposal. Feeling increasingly guilty, he knew that proposing marriage was a man's duty, but he had passed it on to Meg. But in light of his miserable failure with Christine, he knew he could not trust himself to handle such things properly. In fact, he felt incapable of having a normal romantic relationship with anyone. But he trusted Meg, and she in turn trusted her mother. It was a strange way to agree to marriage, which was in his mind a lifetime commitment, despite what he had said about an annulment.

He threw a hand over his eyes in frustration. "I must be insane," he whispered, remembering how he had insisted on a marriage in name only and offered the option of an annulment. Yet to his amazement Meg seemed a willing enough fiancee, not to mention a very desirable one.

With a groan, he knew he needed a miracle in his life, for both their sakes. From all that he had read since coming here, he knew that prayer would help but he had no idea where to begin.

"I should ask Pieter for advice," he mumbled, fighting the drowsiness that floated over him. But within minutes he fell into an exhausted, deep sleep.

When he awoke bright moonlight streamed into the room, which had cooled considerably. Outside the only sound was the gentle chirping of what he guessed to be crickets, and once in a while the coo of a dove. He lay there listening, feeling a certain amount of peace until he remembered Meg. She had wanted to show him the stars, and he had slept through it. He reached over and pulled his pocket watch from the bag, checking the time. It was 1:00 a.m. He had missed her.

He sat up slowly and reached for his leg. Dragging it to the edge of the bed, he eased his foot down and carefully stood up. Holding onto the furniture on his way, he limped over to the desk and opened the window wider, looking out. The night was beautiful, with moonlight gilding the blossoms of the trees and shrubs. He looked up, finding the sky filled with stars. Innumerable sparkles of light shone like diamonds set against the black velvet canopy of the sky. He sighed, wishing he could have shared such a sight with her.

She wanted to live as any normal married couple would, he remembered. He had to admit that despite all the problems in his life, he wanted it too. He thought about her eyes, so warm and inviting, and her smile that lit up her face. Every time they touched he felt as if he were coming to life. He also knew it would be very easy to fall in love with her, and could no longer deny the deep feelings he had for her, though hidden deep within him. Ever since she had come running out of that tunnel after him, he had been helpless in fighting his affection for her. No one had ever treated him as she did, as if he was a normal man. Even a desirable man.

He closed his eyes in regret, knowing his desires were only a dream. He was unable to see how they could ever share a normal life. They had to face the reality of their situation: he must return to Paris and accept whatever punishment awaited him, while at the same time try to protect her from danger. He hoped that once the news of their marriage reached the Buquet brothers, they would give up whatever claim they thought they might make on her. It was doubtful, given their complete disregard for the law and the opinion of others. It was a feeble attempt to protect her, but it was an attempt.

"I am mad," he whispered, looking back up at the sky, feeling completely inadequate for the task ahead. As he considered the vastness and serenity of the heavens spread above him, he remembered that he had been given something precious. He had seen a vision and been given a charge, and so for the first time in his life and without knowing how, he began to pray.

c. 2007 by Christine Levitt


	14. Chapter 14 The Dance Studio

_**Chapter 14 – The Dance Studio**_

"You look terrible."

With a jolt, Erik woke and turned his head against the shoulder of the chair he had fallen asleep in. Focusing his eyes, he saw that his door was open a crack, and there Ben's face peered in.

"I've no doubt," he answered, stretching his back to sit higher. "I was awake half the night."

Ben slipped in and closed the door, leaning back against it. He glanced at the paper strewn desk. "Reminds me of being a student--too many papers and an all night preparatory."

"I had a lot of things to sort through," Erik explained, massaging his leg. It burned and throbbed, and he had to lower it from the ottoman to alleviate the cramping.

Ben came to his side, shaking his head in disapproval. "I leave you in Isaac's care for one day and this is the result—he will have to answer to me."

"I would hesitte to blame him," Erik stated, planting his hands on the arms of the chair to pull himself higher in anticipation of getting to his feet.

"He is to blame," Ben argued, bending to wind an arm around him to help him up. "He had orders to see that you got plenty of rest, not including falling asleep in the chair," he explained, steadying him as they walked toward the bed. "Besides that, you slept well past lunch."

Erik lowered himself to the edge of the mattress and lifted a hand to unbutton his shirt. "It wasn't his fault, and I needed that sleep."

Ben turned to open the wardrobe, beginning to look through his clothing. He flung a pair of freshly laundered pants and a shirt onto the bed. "You don't think I can handle him, do you?"

Erik pulled himself up and calmly poured water into the washbasin. "He has the obvious advantage in size," he said, glancing at him and noting Ben's wiry build. "Forgive me for mentioning it."

"I can take him," Ben proclaimed, handing him a bar of soap. "I have ways."

Erik lathered it and began to wash beneath his arms. "He made me take the medication, forced me to change into a nightshirt and get into bed, all against my will," he explained, soaping his chest. "Then later he knocked on my door with dinner and again afterward to make sure I was settled for the night, yet both times I refused him entrance," he stated, picking up a towel. "I told him I was fine, and he respected that."

"He should know better than to accept that," Ben snorted. "But then again, he is used to dealing with horses."

Erik chuckled, mixing his shaving cream and dabbing it onto the left side of his face. "It is entirely my fault--I had to catch up on my correspondence and preparation for the future," he said, turning away from the mirror with razor in hand. "Where were you, by the way?"

Ben looked up from eyeing the papers spread over the desktop. "Enjoying my day off--what is all this you are working on?"

Erik looked back into the mirror, realizing that marriage to Meg would greatly alter his relationship with Ben. He would become a brother, of sorts, yet he could only anticipate Ben's reaction. Should he even tell him...

"Restitution," he declared, careful to tread lightly before judging Ben.

Ben lifted the envelope addressed in handwriting that was familiar to them all. "She's been sending you things from Paris, hasn't she?"

Erik shook the shaving brush toward the basin. "Apparently, but I hadn't seen any of it until yesterday, thanks to Pieter."

Ben came back to his side, handing him the towel as he finished shaving. "You are behind schedule, aren't you?" he quipped.

Erik patted his face with the towel. "About three weeks behind," he agreed, meeting Ben's gaze. "Much to my regret."

Ben sobered, nodding his heade. "Well if there is any way I can help, or if you need anything at all, just ask."

"I appreciate that," Erik told him, stretching to pick up a clean shirt. "But you've already done more than enough."

"I mean with things back home," Ben clarified, nodding toward the desk. "And if you go back I'd like to go with you."

Erik paused to stare at him. "To see Louise," he guessed, although he sensed the real reason.

"That too, but more so to offer you my support," Ben answered, studying Erik's face. "Meg and I have been talking about what happened."

Rinsing his razor and avoiding Ben's scrutiny, Erik tensed. "What did she say?" he asked carefully.

Ben took a deep breath and leaned against the wall. "That your life at the opera house was very difficult, and that you were betrayed by someone you had loved and trusted for many years...a woman, in fact."

Erik looked up, meeting his gaze. "I have acted in ways that I deeply regret, and though I do not know if I am able I must try to correct what I've done."

After a moment's hesitation, Ben nodded. "That is what she told me...by the way, haven't you wondered why you and I never met before, both having been adopted by Louise?"

"I was not adopted," Erik stated, closing his shaving kit. "And our circumstances were completely different."

"That should not have mattered," Ben said thoughtfully. "We could have been a family."

Erik shook his head. "I doubt that would have been possible, regardless of much it may have been desired."

"I think it's time that changes...starting with you and me."

Erik met his gaze, seeing the resolve in Ben's face. "What would you suggest?"

Ben grinned. "That we get to know each other, of course; now let's get you settled and ready for Dr. Arnand: he should be here within minutes."

Though he had well over an hour before his dinner meeting with Pieter, Erik maneuvered himself down the step and onto the path which would take him to Pieter's office. The unseasonably warm air bathed his face with humidity, its heavy weight filled with the sweet fragrance of springtime. Careful not to lose his balance, he took his left crutch away, pushing it beneath his right arm to quickly unfasten his collar and waistcoat. His shirt clung to his chest after the considerable effort it took him to exit the building, and in order to continue he needed to cool off. Glancing up the length of the tree lined path, he shifted the left crutch back and swung into motion with renewed purpose.

He was finally on his feet for the first time in weeks, though crutches were a necessary evil. They rubbed at the sensitive skin beneath his armpits and made his fingers go numb, but at least he could now come and go as he pleased. The visit with Dr. Arnand had gone better than expected, for not only had he removed the stitches and reduced his medications, but he had officially dismissed him from his care. Isaac had given him lessons on using the crutches, and Ben had demonstrated exercises for him to do on his own. Between the two men he would be assigned a daily schedule of riding and swimming that would help strengthen his leg and speed his recovery. And now, with a bit of time to spare before meeting Pieter, he headed for the school in the hope of finding Meg. Surprised at how much faster the crutches carried him along, he maneuvered himself toward the side to avoid notice. He had to see her again and apologize, hoping she had not misinterpreted the reason for his absence the night before. As he hopped up onto the wooden porch he heard music, and repositioning his crutches he moved slowly toward the hallway from which it came. It was someone playing the piano, an amateur of course, yet the tune was familiar. Slowing as he came toward the open door he paused, recognizing the Celtic lullaby that was so sad and haunting. Finally catching his breath, he leaned forward only enough to peer inside.

The room was large and well lit by windows on one side, mirrors on the other. The golden glow of the late afternoon sun poured in, its beams stopping just short of the foot of the piano in the opposite corner of the room. There she stood with her back to him, her slight figure unmistakable. Her long blonde hair was fastened with a black ribbon and fell just past her waist. The filmy gray dress she wore draped over her hips and fell almost to her ankles. Beneath its hem her silver ballet shoes were still tied as if she had just finished rehearsing. At the piano a small girl sat running her fingers across the keys, singing along with her. The tune stirred his soul and he remembered it as the one Meg had sung to him when he was so ill. Her voice was husky and low yet alluringly feminine, capturing his thoughts and touching his heart. Accompanying it was the child's high and clear voice before she complained to Meg about the time.

"Your father hasn't forgotten you, Gracie!" Meg replied in a lightly scolding tone. "I am sure he will be here soon."

Hands moving over the keys, Gracie looked up with a pout. "He and Mama forget me all the time, but it's worse since the new baby!"

Erik watched their interaction with fascinated pleasure, unaware that he was smiling.

Meg brushed her hand over the girl's soft looking hair. "You are doing so well," she encouraged her. "Your baby sister will love it, even without the piano."

Gracie played it through once again as he listened intently, yet before she reached the second stanza she turned to glance over her shoulder, right at him. Piercingly blue eyes fastened on his and although Erik had seen many children come and go at the opera house he had never seen a more beautiful child. Her face was heart shaped, her black hair in sharp contrast to her light eyes and pale skin. She grinned at him and turned back, still playing the lullaby. But she glanced up at Meg before she began to sing again.

"The man with the green eyes is here," she said matter of factly, singing the verse as if nothing had changed.

Hearing Meg's singing falter, he watched her throw Gracie as skeptical look as the girl giggled. Meg's hand lifted from Gracie's shoulder as she turned her head toward the door, her face brightening when she saw that it was true. Their eyes locked.

"Keep practicing, Gracie," she said, holding his gaze as she slowly turned and started toward him.

Erik moved just inside the door and stopped, balancing on his crutches as he watched her eyes move up and down his length. Gracie's voice pitched forward with quickened speed as she finished her song and sprang from the piano bench. Remembering to turn his face away, he heard the child's light steps and the sound of a chair being dragged toward him. At the same time Meg's hand stretched toward him he saw the chair enter his line of vision. He heard Gracie step up and felt two small hands grip his shoulder. Her soft breathing told him she was close, but then she touched his cheek and turned his head until he looked up in surprise into her huge stormy blue eyes.

"You don't have to do that," she scolded, holding his jaws between her hands. "We like to see your face."

Speechless, he could only stare at her in shock. Meg stepped up and although he threw her a pleading look she put her hands on her hips and smiled.

"She's right, Erik."

"My papa took me to see you when you were really sick," Gracie informed him, squeezing his cheeks until he looked directly at her. "I'm good at praying, otherwise he wouldn't have. And it gave me a chance to stay up late!"

Stunned, Erik felt her hands leave his face only to grip his shoulders for support. She turned toward Meg, curling her fingers into the yoke of his shirt. "I was wrong," she whispered, "his eyes are a little blue, too, like mine. But it's hard to tell the exact color."

An unexpected flood of emotion washed over him as he stood staring at her, interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Gracie's eyes shot to his as she gasped in delight.

"That's my daddy!" she said, jumping down from the chair and sliding it back across the room.

Meg looked up into his eyes, laughing softly as Timmy rushed into the room. In one arm he held a tiny wrapped bundle which he cradled against his chest.

"I'm sorry I'm late!" he apologized to Gracie. She skipped to his side and put her arm around his back, her eyes going to the bundle. Then her gaze shot to Erik's.

"You have to see my baby sister!" she whispered loudly, waving her hand to beckon him. "She's asleep!"

Timmy met his gaze and smiled. "Look at you!" he whispered, his eyes dropping to Erik's feet. "On crutches already!"

Erik nodded, feeling Meg's hand grip his upper arm. "I'm trying."

Timmy and Gracie came forward to show off the baby. Gracie tugged at her father's shirt as she raised up on her toes to look at the baby. Her father gently peeled the top of the blanket from the baby's head. "This is my new little girl, Sarah," he announced in a whisper, gazing down at the infant.

Erik stared at the baby in his amazement, remembering his brief conversation with Dr. Arnand earlier. Before his eyes was proof of Dr. Arnand's opinion that the risk for children being born with the same deformity as their parents was low. Now, looking at both of Timmy's daughters he saw that it was true. Meeting Timmy's expectant gaze, he nodded.

"She's beautiful," he said hoarsely, nodding toward Gracie's upturned face. "So is Gracie..."

She grinned. "Want to hold her?" she whispered back. "She smells pretty, at least when she's clean."

"Not now, Pumpkin," Timmy whispered, ruffling her hair. "Mr. Erik has his hands full, and Sarah likes her nap."

Gracie looked up sheepishly but patted Erik's knuckles as he gripped the crutch in his right hand. "Then next time, when she's awake," she whispered. "Maybe by then you can walk better."

He nodded to her. "Maybe."

Timmy nudged her shoulder gently. "Go get your things: Mama is waiting for us to help with supper."

She danced off to obey as Meg looked up at him, tightening her grip on his arm. "Wait for me and I'll take you to the dining hall," she whispered.

He shook his head. "I have a meeting with Pieter; I'm sorry."

She frowned. "During dinner?"

He nodded. "We need to go over some things, for legal purposes."

Hoping she might understand, he watched the disappointment in her expression flit away. "Oh, I see."

Gracie returned to present herself for Timmy's inspection, waving to them as they turned to leave. Timmy whispered a hasty goodbye and escorted his daughter out. Meg kept her hand on his arm until they heard the outer door slam shut and silence fill the room. Her fingers loosened as she moved from his side to stand before him, tilting her head back to look him in the eye. He watched the light glint upon tiny flecks of gold in her brown eyes, surprising him. He had never noticed them before. Staring at her in silence, they seemed to notice at the same time that they were alone.

"How are you?" she asked softly, a smile playing about her lips.

Somewhat embarrassed, he glanced down at his hands, ignoring the fact that his knuckles were white from gripping the crutches. "Glad to be standing," he breathed, looking up and back into her eyes. "Though not quite on my own yet."

She nodded, her gaze narrowing. "You are taller than I thought," she observed.

He frowned. "You are shorter than I realized."

Their gazes collided a moment before she slowly raised up onto the toes of her ballet shoes. Her hands gripped his crutches just above the place where his own were placed. This brought her face to nearly the same level as his, and when she leaned closer he held his breath.

"Is this better?" she whispered, her smile mischievous. For the first time, he noticed a tiny dimple in her cheek and nodded.

"Much better," he said thickly, "though I fear losing my balance and falling on my face."

She released his crutches and held up her hands, balancing perfectly on the toes of her shoes. "Is this better?"

He wanted to protest the distance between them but she lowered herself to the soles of her feet. "I waited for you last night," she said casually, fingering the wooden edge of his left crutch before her eyes met his. "Quite a long time."

"I came here to apologize," he explained, holding her gaze. "I must have fallen asleep from the medication. I didn't wake up until 1:00 in the morning."

Her eyes dipped to his lips and shot back, making his heart thud. "I was sound asleep by then," she said softly.

Trying to steel himself against the effect her nearness was having upon him, he reminded himself that she had not accepted his apology. "I've been thinking about our last discussion..."

A much cooler expression settled over her face. "Have you changed your mind?"

He studied at her a moment, realizing his absence must have hurt her feelings more than he anticipated. "Have you?"

She lifted her chin. "I did think it telling that for our first engagement you were conspicuously absent."

He expelled a sign of frustration. "There are some things I must settle--I'm going to meet with a lawyer as soon as Pieter can arrange it."

"Here?"

"Wherever it can be arranged, and the sooner the better," he tried to explain. "After that, I should be free to attend to that which concerns our future."

He could tell by her expression that she was disappointed but not angry at him. He bent closer. "Perhaps you might show me the stars another time," he suggested.

A tiny smile curved the corners of her mouth. "If you are up to it," she teased, turning away.

He weighed her meaning while she left his side to close the piano and pick up a shawl. When she came back to his side he turned with her toward the way he had entered.

"Once I am able to ride, perhaps you could join me," he offered. "Give me the rest of your tour."

She looked up, her expression softening. "Might we share Prince again?" she whispered hopefully.

The memory of their ride here together rose up between them, and although he knew it would be much more of a temptation than he should allow, he nodded. "It would be my pleasure."

"I will hold you to that," she said with a smile, walking him to the door. By the time they stood out in the hall and she had closed it behind them, she led the way toward the main building. "Let me walk you to Pieter's office, then I have to change for dinner."

"All right."

"And Erik--"

He slowed as she did, turning to face him. "Next time don't fall asleep."

Studying the impish grin on her face, he smiled despite his better judgment. "Don't worry," he said softly, lowering his gaze to her lips. "I intend to see that never happens again."

c. 2007 by Christine Levitt


	15. Chapter 15 The Future in Hand

_**Chapter 15 – The Future In Hand**_

Pieter looked up from Erik's carefully written statements, noting his worried look. "You amaze me, Erik...judging by what you've prepared here, one would think you had legal training."

Watching him fork another piece of meat into his mouth, Erik glanced at his own plate of half eaten food. Pieter had been examining his work for over an hour already, and he wasn't accustomed to using patience. "What do you think?" he finally asked, careful to keep his feelings hidden.

Pieter swallowed. "I think that meeting with my lawyer is no longer necessary. Instead I'll have these delivered to his office immediately, but give him a day or two to review everything."

"All right," Erik nodded, relieved to have finally set his plan into motion. "What about you--any questions or suggestions?"

Pieter smiled as he set down his wineglass. "Scores of them, but my first concern is your treatment of Christine Daae."

Erik looked away, shaking his head. "I am without excuse, except to admit that I completely lost my mind."

"But you have found it again."

Erik looked up, skeptical of Pieter's confident grin. "That is debatable."

"Why would you say that?" Pieter asked in surprise. "Your formal apology and detailed account of your experiences has adequately proven you are of sound mind, unless you omitted something."

Heaving a sigh, Erik raised a hand to his temple. "Another problem has unfortunately presented itself."

Pieter tapped a finger against his desk. "Before you tell me I have to say that your letters to Christine and the other man--Raoul was it?"

Erik nodded, surprised that he felt no anger or jealousy at the mention of Raoul's name. Could it be that in writing out his confessions and regrets he had somehow purged himself of his bitterness? "That's correct."

"Your letters are very moving, Erik," Pieter continued. "Even more imporantly they explain the length and depth of your relationship with Christine, so much so that I believe they will go far in helping others to understand your behavior."

"I cannot excuse my behavior," Erik insisted, "but I do wish to make restitution, if that is possible."

"I understand your desire to do so, but be very careful to avoid any further contact with them; I will support you in prayer and in any other efforts you might make."

Erik studied him a moment. "Thank you, for all you've done for me."

Pieter waved a hand, shifting his attention back to the handwritten documents. "As to your formal apologies to both the opera community and the city of Paris, I would defer to whatever our attorney suggests. You must not risk being misunderstood concerning the fire or any injuries that may have resulted from it."

Erik stiffened. "I only felt it necessary to offer my apologies, whether they are transmitted or not...just for my own peace of mind."

"Leave that up to the lawyer and police inspector to discuss," Pieter advised, sorting through the remaining statements. "And one more thing—the matter concerning Josef Buquet." He looked up at Erik. "It does not seem to fit into the sequence of the other events you've outlined."

"It relates to Meg's future, the problem I mentioned earlier."

"A problem with Meg? I don't understand."

Erik sighed mightily. "Josef Buquet is that past 'unpleasant experience' about which Louise wrote."

Pieter nodded soberly. "You both suspect him of attacking her, though it could never be proven."

"Perhaps if the case was reopened, the new inspector might be able to settle the matter."

"You threatened him in order to keep him away from her."

"Yes, as well as from countless other women he has harassed."

"But really, Erik--a mock hanging?"

Erik leaned forward, gripping the arms of his chair. "You don't know what kind of man he is, and when the police did nothing the situation became more desperate."

"So you took justice into your own hands."

"Yes, and I'm not sure I wouldn't do it again!"

Ignoring Pieter's shocked expression, Erik tightened his jaw. "Louise convinced Meg to lead me, but it was not only for my sake! Buquet was rumored to have been seen around the opera house only days before we left. I am convinced that he and his brother took advantage of the fire to steal the horses and God knows what else."

"Then you believe they were responsible for your injury."

"One of them was, but the point is they saw her leave with me! Even if they've retained no interest in her they might try to get back at me through her."

Pieter rubbed his chin. "Do you think they might have followed you?"

"I don't know, but I cannot underestimate their persistence…I believe they will do anything to get back at me."

"So you believe Louise foresaw all of this."

"I know she did," Erik stated, pulling her note from his jacket and handing it to Pieter. "She hid this in the bag she packed for my departure, and I only just discovered it," he said, watching Pieter begin to read it.

Pieter looked up with a stunned expression on his face. "This is a marriage proposal, Erik."

He nodded soberly. "For Meg's protection."

"Primarily, yes, but she has other reasons."

Erik glanced away. "Apparently."

"And have you made that decision, Erik?"

He met Pieter's waiting gaze. "I let Meg decide."

"Really...and she agreed?"

Erik nodded. "Yes, much to my bewilderment…but I'm not convinced she fully realizes the threat to her safety."

"I don't doubt it."

Erik stared at him in surprise. "Why do you say that?"

Pieter smiled and reached across his desk to extend his hand. "Then let me be the first to congratulate you," he said, shaking his hand. "I have to say that like Louise I also believe you will make Meg an excellent husband, danger or not."

Erik stared at him in disbelief. "I thought you would object, particularly after reading what I've outlined."

Pieter laughed. "On the contrary, I concur! Furthermore I like the fact that you let Meg choose."

Frustrated, Erik shook his head. "What else could I do? I am hardly in a position to ask anyone to marry me!"

Pieter sat back with a smile on his face. "The marriage is Louise's idea, and don't forget the fact that she knows you both very well. It is, in my estimation, a perfectly arranged marriage proposal that can only benefit everyone. I am happy for you both."

Erik was nonplussed. "How can you possibly say that, given our circumstances?"

"I do not discount them, nor the fact that you have stumbled only partway out of a colossal mess," Pieter said more convincingly. "But I do see the potential for good, for all your sakes."

"Then you see too much," Erik stated. "We have agreed only to a marriage of convenience, that is all."

"'Marriage of convenience?'" Pieter nearly shouted. "Whatever for?"

"For Meg's protection!"

Pieter's expression darkened with concern. "I hardly think that is what Meg or Louise intends, even if they may not have elaborated upon the details."

"Meg has agreed to that condition."

"But this is the time you most need each other, Erik!" Pieter urged. "And from what I have seen you are both halfway in love with each other."

Erik closed his eyes in frustration. "Neither of us can afford to be--"

"But you are!" Pieter protested. "Everyone sees it but the two of you!"

Erik looked up at him, attempting to remain calm when he felt like throwing something. "We will marry only for Meg's protection and only until things are settled," he informed Pieter."When I can arrange her safe return to Paris I will escort her there and turn myself in to the authorities. She understands and accepts these conditions with full knowledge that our relationship will allow her the opportunity to file for an annulment if she so desires."

Pieter shook his head with a sad expression in his eyes. "I doubt she will do such a thing, even if you never have a real marriage. If you believe she would marry just to dissolve it when times are hard, you don't know her very well."

"But she is in complete agreement with my setting those conditions--"

"Meg would agree to anything, just to be with you."

Erik stared at Pieter, realizing in that moment that Pieter was telling the truth. He could sense it in Meg, despite the fact that in his own mind her actions made no sense at all. "She has an unrealistic opinion of me," he said dismissively.

"Ah, the hero worship you mentioned," Pieter stated, his eyes twinkling."That may be true but only in part, Erik. And I think you suspect that there is a lot more beneath the surface, particularly in light of recent developments."

Erik held his gaze, for the first time considering the sentence he had placed upon their marriage. Though the thought of a real marriage was tempting, he could hardly allow himself to consider it. Frowning in disapproval, he opened his mouth to object.

"I think you are just as guilgy of having an unrealistic opinion of Meg," Pieter interrupted.

Unable to deny the fact that there was something between them, Erik threw back his head in despair, closing his eyes. "What have I done?" he groaned, hearing the scrape of Pieter's chair as he got up from his desk.

"I think you've done the honorable thing," he answered, bringing Erik's attention back to his command. Pieter spread his hands out in mock surrender. "You've put your desires behind everyone else's, which though commendable is actually completely unrealistic."

Erik studied his uncharacteristic scowl in silence, steepling his fingers together.

"You cannot afford to underestimate your own feelings, or Meg's," Pieter continued. "Although given the matter with Christine, I understand why you have chosen to do so."

"I cannot make the same mistakes with Meg," Erik replied, shaking his head. "Yet to be honest, I have no idea how to avoid making them."

"If anyone knew that, none of us would need a savior."

Erik held his unrelenting gaze, feeling stripped nearly bare. "I only wish to give Meg her freedom, should things go badly for me."

Pieter threw up his hands. "That was what you should have done with Christine, but do not even consider it with Meg!" Erik watched while he dropped his hands to grip the edge of his desk. "Although I admit to never havine met Christine, something tells me you are involved with two very different women."

"But I don't know anything about women!" Erik protested.

"You are in good company, Erik--most men don't, including me!" Pieter commiserated, his eyes softening. "All I know is that the key is to listen and learn…make no assumptions."

"I did that with Christine," Erik admitted. "And I truly believed that she had feelings for me, at least until Raoul came back into her life...I would have sworn to it."

Pieter shrugged. "You may have been right, Erik. A man can sense these things...by the way, is Christine very young?"

"Yes," Erik sighed. "About the same age as Meg is."

"In your statement you indicated that she came to Paris as an orphan, a child."

"That is correct."

"Then she lived a very different life than Meg did."

Erik nodded. "Yes, I suppose she did. I always thought our loneliness brought us together."

"Meg has a very close relationship with her mother, and also with Ben."

"Yes, that appears to be the case."

Pieter sighed, nodding with the wisdom of the sages, in Erik's opinion. "Well that certainly sheds more light on your relationship with Christine."

Erik stared at him a moment."What do you mean?"

"Christine loved you as a father figure, or perhaps as an older brother of sorts," Pieter stated. "At least at the beginning."

Erik nodded. "Then she matured, and everything changed. It was as if she played a game with me."

"She flirted with you, tried to get your attention but no longer as a father figure."

"No, quite the opposite, if I understood her correctly," Erik admitted, wondering how Pieter had acquired such wisdom. "And when I could stand it no longer, I somehow summoned the courage to ask her to marry me."

"And how did she respond?"

"It changed everything yet again, so I offered a marriage in name only just to be near her."

"And she agreed?"

"Yes," Erik mused, remembering all the hopes he had once had for their future, underestimating the feelings Pieter had insisted must not be ignored. "She took my ring and believed me when I insisted she could have her freedom to come and go. My only demand upon her would be our friendship, and of course our love of music...had Raoul not come along, it might have worked, as long as I kept my mask in place."

Pieter crossed his arms. "But now you are dealing with Meg, not Christine...and you need not keep your mask in place."

Erik sighed. "You're right, of course..."

Pieter came toward him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Though you have suffered a great deal, perhaps more than anyone I've met, you must try to find the courage to acknowledge your own feelings, your own needs. But do not expect Meg to deny hers in the process."

Erik shook his head. "How can I allow her to get close to someone like me?"

"It's too late, Erik, she already is."

"But I am very likely a condemned man!"

"You don't know that, Erik, but you need to be strong and to have faith that your future will be brighter than that...it is the reason you've been brought here, if you can admit it."

"I haven't that kind of faith."

"You will, Erik," Pieter said confidently. "I see it in you, as clearly as I see something between you and Meg, something that just might complete and satisfy you both if you will risk it and nurture it."

Erik looked up at him in amazement. "You sound like Louise."

Pieter smiled and patted his shoulder. "Then I am not the only one to notice."

"So you are advising us to marry in truth, not just for convenience...whatever the future holds."

Pieter pulled out his chair and shrugged. "What other reason would there be to marry? And don't answer with the usual social and economic benefits, I know you both too well."

"I can protect her," Erik insisted, watching Pieter sit back down. "But we would need to be close, at all times."

Pieter rested his chin on his hand, studying him intently. "Is the reason you do not wish to consummate the marriage because you fear being separated from her, perhaps imprisoned?"

Erik nodded soberly. "That is a very strong possibility, and reason enough."

"But you have other reasons, don't you Erik?" Pieter accused. "Such as the possiblity of having children."

"Of course I do!" Erik protested. "I could not bear to break her heart by giving her children that look like me!"

In the ensuing silence Erik felt overcome with guilt at his angry outburst. But to his relief Pieter only shook his head as he might when scolding a naughty child. "You are assuming two things, both without much basis," he stated. "One, that you will even conceive children, the other that should you be so blessed, they might be anything but normal."

"I have consulted Dr. Arnand about the possibility," Erik explained.

"And what did he say?"

Erik looked away. "The same thing you have said," he admitted, pinching the place between his eyes. His head pounded and he desperately needed his solitude.

"My wife and I prayed for years and never conceived," Pieter said woodenly. "All around you are families with similar problems, yet the greater number of children born to them are completely normal, suffering no ill effects."

Erik hardened his resolve. "Meg and I have already agreed on this matter."

Pieter held up a hand. "Just think about it," he said, picking up a pen to scribble something down on a sheet of paper. "I am listing chapter and verse for you to see what Scripture has to say about marriage and childbearing."

When Pieter finally handed him the list, Erik looked up, not sure if he should ask but nevertheless doing so. "Would you do us the honor of marrying us?"

After a moment Pieter nodded. "Of course I will, but providing you both meet with me for counseling beforehand. I require that of all the couples I marry." At his hesitation, Pieter held up a hand. "Don't worry, Erik, this conversation is confidential. If we do discuss the same issues I will be sure to maintain an impersonal tone in front of Meg."

"All right," Erik agreed, unsure of the wisdom of doing so.

"Now, I assume you wish to marry as soon as possible, given the circumstances?" Pieter asked.

"Yes, but with a private ceremony."

"Does Meg agree?"

Erik shifted uncomfortably. "We have not yet gone over all the details."

"Make sure you do, Erik—women tend to have certain expectations when it comes to planning a wedding. If she agrees, I can have you married before week's end."

"Good, and upon returning to Paris I must ask for your help in protecting her, should we be separated from each other."

"I plan on it, as I am sure Ben will," Pieter agreed, shaking his head. "It is a shame Louise cannot be here—you might consider a public ceremony at a later date, for her benefit."

"I hesitate on planning that far ahead," Erik stated.

"I understand, Erik. Arlene will insist upon giving you both a reception, and our parish loves weddings."

Erik nodded, bending to retrieve his crutches. "I will discuss it with Meg."

"One more thing, Erik--" Pieter said, reaching into the top drawer of his desk. He produced a key, and handed it to Erik.

Getting up slowly, Erik stretched to take it from him. "What is this for?"

Pieter smiled knowingly. "Once you are married, I would like to offer you and Meg our cabin for a temporary home. It is quite comfortable, and stands atop the ridge. You are welcome to take a look beforehand."

Erik was touched by his generosity. "I appreciate it, but--"

"I said temporary, Erik...but at least consider making your home here instead of in Paris. It might prove an excellent start for both of you, and you could not ask for a more accepting group of neighbors."

Erik pocketed the key with some reservation. "If we were to live here I would need to contribute in some way," he stated. "But unfortunately I have nothing to offer."

"Let me be the judge of that--in fact, I've been meaning to discuss that very thing…"

Meg opened her eyes, finally feeling a deep sense of peace begin to settle within her heart. At the start of the service her stomach had been knotted with tension from worrying about the meeting between Erik and Pieter, as well as about the future. They were probably discussing Erik's future, perhaps even their plans to marry. She was tempted to push aside everything but her plans and desires for their wedding. Ever since she was a little girl she had dreamed of her wedding day. Now, though it was clear Erik insisted upon a marriage of convenience, she was hopeful that someday they might share more. She was falling in love with Erik and had only agreed to his demand because he was under such great pressure to resolve his situation. His outlook was grim, but she believed in the power of love. And as the worship and music swelled around her and energized her, her hope grew. Praying and thanking God for Erik, she had come to a place where she could humble herself and release her concerns to another who saw and knew more than either of them could imagine. And she had confidence that Erik would also come to the same place.

Taking a deep breath of the sweet scent of incense and tangy odor of burning candles, she smiled in contentment. The soft glow of the candles enveloped her in a cocoon of faith that renewed her strength. Still singing softly, she slid to the edge of the pew and slipped out, walking soundlessly down the aisle toward the back exit. She passed by rows and rows of a full sanctuary, despite Pieter's absence. Isaac had been in charge of the service, which always meant a very different experience. Some said it was because Isaac had suffered so much in his young life, that the experience had deepened his gratitude and devotion to the point where it overflowed to bless others. Glancing toward the shadowed row of people standing along the back wall, she realized how crowded it had been. As she headed toward the exit door nearest her row, her eye caught a familiar sight and she slowed her steps, staring in disbelief. _Erik..._

He was standing on the opposite side of the sanctuary, leaning back against the wall with his crutches in place. Though his head was bowed, she knew without question that it was him. She laid a hand on the back of the last row, watching a slight tremor shake his shoulders. His reaction was shared by many of the men present, so strong was the presence in that place. Forcing herself to look away, she chose to give him his privacy and continued on her way. Slipping out the door she stepped onto the path that led to the willows, her thoughts centered on him.

When had they finished their meeting, she wondered. Could he have been standing there long enough to spot her, even in the crowded rows? Even if he did, she told herself, he would have chosen to remain in the back. He would never be comfortable in a crowd, and the crutches further complicated things. Still, it was obvious that something had affected him; she only wished she knew what.

Choosing the same bench she had taken when bringing him here, Meg sat down and gazed out over the moonlit water. It was in this very spot that she had made his decision for him, agreeing to marry him. She sighed, realizing how little of him she had seen in the interim. Leaning back, she looked up at the sky and noted the few stars she could identify, their conversation playing over in her mind. Sometimes upsetting her, other times giving her hope, she soon switched her concentration to other less stressful encounters with him, those memories which she kept closest to her heart.

She remembered how his eyes changed color, shifting and revealing things that his steely reserve tried to hide. After only a few encounters with him she had learned to read him fairly well, even detecting the subtle nuances of his moods. If he tensed his lips, tightened his jaw or raised his brows he was clearly frustrated. The tiny lines that crinkled around his eyes and mouth alerted her to his pleasure or amusement. Though the different tones and textures of his voice were still virtually a mystery to her, she was confident of her ability to learn their individual meanings. And if given the time and concentration, she knew that she would be rewarded with a deeper glimpse into the complicated, lonely and increasingly attractive man she was blessed to be able to call her fiance. Sighing at her hopeless fascination with him, she had to admit that she could hardly wait to see him again. It didn't matter whether he felt the same way or not. Despite the fact that he could be frustratingly stubborn and evasive, he was far more compelling than anyone she had ever met. Maybe, by some small chance, she might even help him to change.

Catching herself at entertaining such a dangerous fantasy, she pounded the bench with her hands and looked heavenward for help. "I am being completely ridiculous!" she breathed in supplication.

"Perhaps you are."

Freezing at the sound of his voice, she accepted the fact that there was no way to deny her outburst. Unclenching her fingers from her palms she slowly looked up at the dark form silhouetted against the sky. For what seemed like an eternity neither of them spoke or moved. Then he pressed the ends of the crutches into the packed earth and came closer. In two fluid movements he swung aside the crutches and planted himself down next to her. Hugging herself beneath her shawl, Meg caught a hint of his scent and her pulse began to pound. When his knee brushed the fabric of her skirts, she nearly jumped. Shifting her hands to her lap, she twisted her fingers together without realizing he would notice how nervous she was.

Erik sighed contentedly, his eyes heavenward. "I've been known to speak to the heavens myself," he admitted quietly.

"I was talking to myself, actually," she explained after only a moment's hesitation. "Which is, I suppose, a bad habit."

"Not at all," he breathed, looking at her directly. "When you are alone enough, the sound of your own voice can be very comforting."

She studied his shadowed features in frustration, wanting to see into his eyes. "That depends upon what you are saying to yourself."

He nodded. "True...and now that I have caught you in the act, I fully admit my curiosity."

She sighed, looking up. "It wasn't particularly comforting."

He chuckled. "That much I guessed," he breathed. "I doubt that a sensible and practical person such as yourself could in fact be truly ridiculous."

She laughed. "You think I'm sensible?"

There was a pregnant pause. "Not as much of late."

She turned toward his shadowed profile. "To what do you refer, sir?"

It was his turn to laugh. "Why, agreeing to marry me, of course," he stated. "A totally ridiculous decision, and quite out of character for you, if I might mention."

"You think you know me well enough to judge?"

He looked at her a moment. "I am afraid I don't know you at all, of late."

She waved a hand and looked back up at the stars. "Stop examining everything so intently, Erik," she suggested. "Or you might regret what you discover."

After a moment he stretched back against the bench, extending his good leg further before him. "Keep your secrets then," he stated blandly. "I have certainly kept mine."

"Why thank you, sir," she laughed.

They sat in comfortable silence until she remembered seeing him in the chapel. Dare she ask him what he had experienced there? Or should she let him retain his own secrets? Though she was eager to know what had moved him so visibly, she thought better of asking him. To her surprise, however, he turned his head toward her.

"I was able to attend the last part of the service tonight," he said softly. "I tried to find you, but it was too crowded."

"I left before it ended," she said carefully.

"May I ask why?"

She shrugged. "I don't like being caught in the press of the crowd."

He nodded. "I felt the same way, particularly with these crutches."

She turned toward him. "I fear we are both hermits," she said good naturedly.

He snorted softly. "I at least have good reason to be."

Suddenly picturing them living as hermits, apart from the world, her anxiety returned. Where would they live, she had to wonder, and how? He wouldn't want to stay here, that much she felt sure of. Still, in her mind, it was the only place that might offer them a chance at a normal life. Not wishing him to notice her fear, she suddenly realized that she had been unconsciously knotting the fringes of her shawl. Stilling her hands, she felt the weight of his gaze upon them. He had noticed.

He took her hand in his, cradling it atop his thigh. She could feel the slightly rough skin of his fingertips against her knuckles, even the pulse in his hand. Affected more than she had expected, she swallowed and kept her gaze averted.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly. "Having second thoughts?"

Distracted by his touch and the velvety quality of his voice, she shook her head, resisting the urge to turn her palm against his and lace their fingers together. "No, of course not," she admitted.

He tightened his grip. "Then what is it?"

She threw her head back to look up at his face. "Oh anything and everything!" she cried softly. "I've been thinking you were the one having second thoughts—"

"I am not--"

"Then I worry about someone appearing at the gate and demanding you return to Paris--"

"Meg--"

"It's foolish, I know, but sometimes I cannot help it—so yes, I am being ridiculous!"

He released her hand and reached for his crutches. As she watched in stupefication, he got to his feet and held out his hand.

"Let's go," he commanded softly.

She stared at him. "Go where?"

"What you need is some distraction," he explained. "So let's go."

She pulled her shawl back up onto her shoulder and moved toward the edge of the bench. "What kind of distraction?"

"We have a date with the stars, if I recall," he said, glancing up with his hand still extended. "And there are more beginning to reveal themselves."

She took his hand and got up, taking his arm while he positioned his crutches and started off. "Are you sure?" she gasped, nearly running to keep up with him.

"Very sure--to the library?"

"Yes, the library roof!" she laughed, already falling behind. "Slow down, Erik!" she scolded. "My legs aren't as long as yours."

The sound of his laughter trailing back toward her warmed her heart more than anything had in a long time.

c, 2007 by Christine Levitt


	16. Chapter 16 The Telescope

_**Chapter 16 – The Telescope**_

Detective Gilbert watched Marie Fournier through the window of Leger's office. It had been an hour since he'd led her there to wait, yet she continued to dart nervous glances in his direction. It seemed unfair, making her wait, but he knew he had to. There was, however, no telling when his supervisor would return.

He got up and walked toward the door. Perhaps she needed another drink...

"I'm here!" Leger announced, coming in an passing his. Rapping it with his knuckles, he sailed by and into his office. Gilbert saw her look up and smile nervously. When Leger motioned to him to join them he complied, closing the door behind himself.

"I apologize for keeping you waiting," Leger said, draping his jacket over the back of his chair. "I was inadvertently delayed."

Studying his disheveled appearance, Gilbert was well aware of the fact that neither of them had gotten much sleep over the past day and a half. Information continued to pour into police headquarters in the wake of the opera house fire. They had extra officers brought in from the outlying precincts to help. Not to mention the daily reports of opera ghost sightings, fire related injuries and stirrings of mob support for the villain who remained at large. Despite all these factors, for some reason Leger had declared this young woman a priority, worthy of his personal attention, and still Gilbert wasn't quite sure why.

"I understand, Inspector," she was saying. "Clearly, you are both very busy and I hope to delay you only for a moment."

Leger sat down, leaning back in his chair. "I was sorry to hear about your unfortunate experience, mademoiselle. I have decided to reopen your case and this time bring to justice the men responsible. We will, however, need more information from you in order to identify them--"

"I realize that," she interrupted, nodding in nervous agreement. "But you do have my written statement on file, as well as other witnesses to testify of their continued threats, both to me and my family."

"We have your home under continued surveillance," Leger assured her. "It should only be a matter of time before we catch them."

She looked doubtful. "I have been told that before."

"We are doing all that we can, mademoiselle."

She glanced at Gilbert, who smiled encouragingly. "I will hold you to that, sir, but you must not underestimate them; they will act again."

"I believe you," Leger answered, leaning forward. "My report stated that you had some new information to share."

She moved to the edge of her chair, gripping the arms. "Though they both wore masks, the one that...raped me...had a distinct voice, raspy and low pitched. I believe his accent was from the South."

Leger glanced at Gilbert, who nodded. He had taken her information himself. "Is that all?" his supervisor asked.

"…and a marking on his skin--a sketch of an anchor."

"A tattoo?"

"Yes, I believe that is what it is called," she answered, her face reddening before she looked down at the floor. "I could not bring myself to mention this before, but it is located...below the navel."

Gilbert glanced at Leger and cleared his throat. "We assure you we will maintain the utmost propriety and discretion concerning your case."

She looked up, her eyes pleading with them both. "Though I would rather never think of it again, I had to come forward with the details in order to protect my younger sister."

"I understand," Leger agreed. "Once we have them in custody, however, you will need to confirm these details."

"They will not know it is you doing so," Gilbert interjected.

"Unless it is brought before the courts," Leger warned. "At which time you would need to appear in person."

"I will do whatever is necessary to put him behind bars," she choked, hugging herself and avoiding their eyes. Leger nodded to Gilbert and he rose.

"We will inform you of any progress," Leger stated, waving to Gilbert who came to her side. She rose and walked to his door.

"Thank you, Inspector..."

An hour later a telegram was delivered to their offices, and after opening it and scanning its contents Leger presented it to Gilbert with a stunned expression on his face. Slowly taking it from his hand, Gilbert waited for his direction.

"It appears that we are finally going to have a breakthrough in this case," he said quietly, nodding toward the paper.

After reading the four lines typed therein, Gilbert looked up. "What if this is another fake?"

Leger smiled. "Not too many fakes bother to hire an attorney," he answered.

Gilbert nodded. "It says to respond immediately…I know where his office is located," he offered, reaching for his coat.

Leger was already heading for the door. "If this goes well we can knock down the judge's door after that--let's go."

As soon as they left the building Leger breathed out a sigh of relief. "We now have a name and a confession," he said quietly, his features much more relaxed.

"I can hardly wait to see what he's sent us," Gilbert nodded.

"My question is why he waited all this time to offer it," Leger stated.

"He probably got tired of hiding out," Gilbert said with a shrug.

"I doubt it, since that is how he's always lived."

They crossed the square and he led them into an alley, glancing furtively around the busy streets. "After weeks of dodging newspapermen, I think we know how he feels," Gilbert huffed.

It was eight in the evening by the time they returned from the judge's offices. Carrying meals prepared for them by a local restaurant, they had just settled into Leger's office for dinner when Detective Aubin appeared at the door. He ducked his head in and nodded in a brief apology.

"They took the bait," he grinned. "While you were out they broke into the new wing of the opera house, just after dusk. Carried off a few objects d'art and hid them in their barn."

Leger swallowed his mouthful of chicken. "Who went with you?"

"Mai and St. Pierre...they have no idea we followed them home."

"Good, keep it that way. Did they try to rob the opera office?"

"Didn't go near it," Aubin reported. "They've probably been following the solicitor every time he makes a deposit."

"Double the watch on their farm," Leger ordered. "Madame Giry safe?"

"Yes sir, though Francois thinks she is about to have a nervous breakdown."

"Keep watch over her and stay on the Fournier family."

Aubin frowned. "We will need more men for that."

"You'll have them."

"Why don't we just arrest them now?" Gilbert asked. "We have the suspicion of rape, the neighbors' statements confirming their horsestealing and now a witnessed break in and theft."

Leger glanced toward the telegram tucked into the blotter of his desk. "Those are just pieces of a larger puzzle," he surmised, looking back at Gilbert. "Something tells me the most important piece is about to be added."

Gilbert noted Aubin's befuddled look. "He means the opera ghost."

Aubin frowned. "But he's been gone for weeks!"

"We have a confession," Leger announced.

"He had everything notarized and let his lawyer set up a meeting," Gilbert added.

"Not surprising that things have to be done his," Aubin chuckled. "Which testifies to the fact that it's really him."

"That's right," Leger nodded.

"But what does that have to do with the Buquet brothers?" Aubin proposed.

"It seems that our phantom has another score to settle, with Josef Buquet," Leger explained, his voice low. "He's offered himself as bait to catch them, assuming they will go for his reward."

"Even better, the judge has approved the whole plan," Gilbert smiled.

Aubin shook his head. "What if they suspect something, drop everything and run?"

"If we continue to let them get away with their other crimes, it will boost their confidence," Leger explained. "Josef Buquet has a history with our phantom, and I doubt he will be able to decline the opportunity to get even with him."

Aubin nodded in understanding. "What about the horses, and the art?"

"The only way they can sell either is either out of the country, or at the international auction coming up in a few days," Gilbert guessed.

"What is the plan, then?"

"Leave that up to us," Leger stated. "I am putting you in charge of things here while Detective Gilbert and I are away. Keep a close watch on the brothers, but once they leave the city we will handle things from there."

"All right, but what if the phantom comes back while you're gone? We'll have another mob scene--"

"The judge has arranged a meeting at his mansion instead."

"He feels sorry for the ghost," Gilbert chuckled. "He said his actions were crimes of passion."

"Who would have thought the opera ghost would find favor with Judge Miller?" Leger mused, shaking his head.

Aubin laughed. "Maybe he's an opera fan."

"He just wants this handled as quietly as possible," Leger answered.

"Half the city thinks he's a hero, so he is famous in a way," Aubin stated blandly.

"Or infamous," Gilbert corrected, patting his half full stomach. "Frankly, I cannot wait until it's all over."

Aubin pulled himself away from the doorjamb. "Don't forget to say goodbye before you leave," he said with a salute, turning to leave.

Meg stood at the top of the landing gripping Erik's crutches. His breathing sounded loud in the deserted library as she watched him finish climbing the 30 stairs, maneuvering his leg up each one at a time.

"I'm so sorry," she groaned in apology, "I completely forgot about the stairs."

He pulled up from the last one, leaning on the balustrade and trying to catch his breath. "It was my idea…remember?"

"We should put in a lift," she complained, glancing around at the darkened shelves of books. "There are certainly enough volumes to transport between levels."

"That would make sense," he panted, "though the cost would be prohibitive."

She swept her arm toward the reading room behind them, which was flooded with moonlight. "Well, the balcony is over there. Pieter keeps his telescope out during fair weather."

He straightened, exhaling a deeper breath. "I thought it was Ben's telescope."

She handed over his crutches. "He just adopted it because he uses it more than anyone else."

Erik positioned them beneath his arms and started toward the room. "What about you?"

"I only know how to use it once it's positioned and focused," she said, walking at his side. "I was hoping you might be able to set it up."

She reached the double doors and unlatched them as he stopped close by her side. "What makes you think I know anything about telescopes?" his voice both stroked and accused.

Affected by his nearness, she braved a smile and gazed up at him in mock innocence. "I just assumed you would, judging by all the other contraptions you've designed and operated."

He turned his head toward the heavily draped object standing in the center of the platform. "I suppose I could try," he offered, turning back to study her features. "But don't assume, ask."

Shivering partly from the night air and partly from the way she responded to his closeness, Meg led him toward the telescope. Glancing up at the dazzling display of stars suspended above, she reached for the canvas and unfurled it with a flourish, watching him expectantly.

"This is it," she announced, pleased by the obvious interest he showed as he stood examining it. She reached for his crutches as he moved closer, lifting a hand to the binoculars. After gently fingering the focus wheels, he glanced up at her. "May I?"

"Of course," she breathed. "Feel free to explore."

He studied her expression before looking into the eyepieces. She watched him toy with the lenses, pull back to check the angle and height of the mirrors, then look into the ocular glasses once again.

"This is a rare treat," he said, his voice hushed. "Are you sure it is all right to use it?"

Amused by the fact that he said this while staring into the telescope, she only laughed as she watched him move into different positions to explore the worlds beyond normal vision. As she did she was filled with a sense of wonder.

_What had he been like as a boy?_ she mused, studying the gentle strength in his capable fingers. Bright, inquisitive, eager to explore the world, no doubt. Trying to envision a much younger Erik, she caught herself as her mind jolted her back to reality. He had been denied a childhood, a normal life. And as he mumbled something she could not discern, she studied him from a new perspective, facing the fact that not only did she know very little about him, but she had just recently agreed to marry him.

His smile flashed bright in the darkness and she noted with some distraction that he admitted to reading a great deal about the development of this type of telescope and the recent discoveries made concerning the planets. She nodded and smiled despite the increasing complexity of his words and conclusion he had made from the literature. As his language became even more technical her mind drifted off as he eyes traveled over his hair, the strong curve of his back and the masculine beauty of his profile. Suddenly, without warning, she had a vision of standing in this very place with their son. She could see him as clearly as if he stood there in the daylight, and she gasped in astonishment. Whether vision or imagination, she could see that he had the same bright, astonishing eyes his father had, as well as the same intelligence.

"Meg--are you all right?"

Startled from her thoughts, she looked up into his glinting eyes. He had straightened to his full height, resting his hand on the telescope as he studied her with a bemused expression on his face. The corners of his lips threatened a smile.

"Of course!" she breathed, grinning to hide the guilty progress of her imagination. As he continued to stare at her, she grimaced. "What were you saying?"

He chuckled as he turned back to look into the lenses. "I'm afraid you've done it again," he said softly.

She took a step closer, suddenly interested in what he was gazing at. "Did what?"

His lips curved into a broader smile as he looked into the oculars. "Visited another place and time."

"So did you," she complained, tugging his arm. "And you've had enough time--my turn."

"Be my guest," he said as he straightened and gripped the edge of the table. Hopping back on his good leg he let her duck in front of him, keeping his hand on the frame of the telescope as she looked in. "Behold the planet Venus."

She squinted against the bright white blur. "Where? It's fuzzy."

She felt him take her hand and direct it to the focus wheel. Afraid to move, she hoped he could not sense how her heart began to pound. She could smell the pleasant aroma of his soap, or perhaps it was his shaving cream. To her surprise he guided her fingers on the focus wheels, asking if her view had improved with each adjustment.

"Turn it very slightly--no, keep looking in," he coached her. "You have only to focus the reflection."

She gasped when the blur sharpened into a clearer image. "I see it!" she squeaked with delight. "But it's cloudy…" His fingers guided hers like a caress and she swallowed, forcing herself to hide her reaction. "It's beautiful," she declared, but I cannot see the exact surface."

"The clouds veil it," he sighed. "That rarely changes."

She pulled away, staring up at him. "How do you know that, if you've never used a telescope?"

He smiled. "As I explained before, I read a great deal—"

"Never used a telescope?"

Meg looked up to see Ben walking toward them, his expression revealing his surprise. "There you two are," he said carefully, coming to Erik's side. "I've been looking for you all night."

Erik glanced toward the telescope. "I hope we haven't disturbed anything."

Ben glanced up at the sky, then between Meg and Erik. "Let me have a look," he said carefully.

Meg moved back before she realized how close Erik stood behind her. Beginning to lose her balance, she felt his hand touch her waist as she grasped his arm. Flustered, she smiled up at him, noting his attention to be on Ben's face as he looked into the telescope.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Ben breathed, his voice hushed as he studied the planet. "What happens when you look beyond our world and into the next?"

As she removed her hand from his arm Erik glanced overhead, his eyes narrowing on the display overhead. "When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers…" he said softly, his hand falling away from her waist.

She recognized the Scripture he was quoting as Ben finished making adjustments and stepped away from the telescope. "Have another look," he said to Erik.

Erik switched positions with him, and while he gazed into the lenses she met Ben's inquisitive look. She smiled hesitantly before he looked back at Erik, shoving his hands into his pockets. Erik straightened and guided her back into position. She looked in, thought of guessing but decided against it. "I cannot tell," she informed them, taking a step back.

Erik looked overhead. "Ursa Minor."

"That's right," Ben stated, looking at her. "Look for Polaris, Meg--the North Star."

She ducked down to look back in. "That's the North Star?"

"How did you know how to set it up?" he asked Erik.

"It's not very different from a pair of opera glasses."

Ben laughed. "But a longer reach, to be sure."

"I see the other stars," Meg announced, intent on the new image she found. She reached out for Erik's arm and gripped it without looking up. "Just give me a bit longer…"

"I wanted to start you with swim therapy days ago," Ben threatened jokingly.

"I know," she heard Erik sigh tiredly. "There have been other matters which needed attending to."

"I can imagine," Ben's voice trailed off.

"Actually, now that you're here," Erik stated, pulling his arm from her grasp.

She waved her hand toward the direction of his voice. "Erik you have to see this--

"--there is an important matter which we need to discuss," he continued, capturing her hand in his.

"I see the moon now!" she gasped, gripping Erik's hand with excitement.

"Meg has graciously agreed to become my wife."

Bumping her nose on the lens, she shot up. "Erik!"

Ben stood shifting his gaze between them. "What?"

She put up a hand. "We were going to tell you--"

"Married?" Ben breathed. "When did you decide this?"

Meg grasped Erik's arm for support. "We wanted to tell you right away, but Erik has been so busy—"

"We did not wish to shock you," Erik began, "although judging by your expression, we've succeeded."

"I'm not shocked," Ben said, a dazed smile spreading across his face. "In fact, I think I'm thrilled."

There was a moment of silence before Erik guided her toward Ben. "Pieter has agreed to marry us in a private ceremony," he stated. "We would like you to be there."

Meg looked up at him in surprise; why hadn't he told her? "Yes, of course," she murmured, focusing on Ben. "And I want you to give me away, Ben...please?"

He reached for her hand. "I would be honored, but I'm not sure I'm qualified..."

Meg laughed nervously. "Well you are obviously too young to be my father, so big brother will have to do."

Ben put his hands on his hips, studying them both. "I shouldn't be surprised," he breathed. "But what about Louise?"

"She suggested it," Meg told him. "We have her written her approval to do so without her...it's for my protection, Ben."

He sobered immediately. "I think that's wise…well, I must be the last one to know, then."

Meg put her hands on his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Ben. It was a rather sudden decision, and we've all been so busy."

He nodded. "Too busy."

Erik picked up his crutches and moved toward them. "Are you free on Friday, assuming Pieter is available?"

Meg studied him in shock, hearing Ben's acceptance. "Friday would be fine…"

"Good," Erik announced, obviously glad to put aside that item of discussion. He turned to Meg. "May I walk you home?"

Noting the relief in his face she nodded, kissing Ben's cheek. "Are you staying?"

"Of course, now that the telescope is all ready," he answered. "Do you need help with the stairs, Erik?"

"It should be easier going down," he replied with a nod. "Thank you."

"Thank you, Erik--for the good news," Ben laughed, turning away.

Upon reached the landing, Meg glanced back to see that Ben was already intent upon whatever view he saw through the telescope. As Erik gripped the railing she put a hand on his shoulder and he stopped to look back, his eyes narrowing on her face as he frowned.

"What's wrong?" he whispered with concern.

"Why didn't you tell me that you and Pieter made plans?" she whispered, nodding toward Ben. "And you didn't ask _me_ about Friday!"

"I hadn't the chance, and since we caught Ben privately I thought we should set a date," he explained. "Why, are you busy on Friday?"

"That is hardly the point!" she whispered back.

He stared at her, shaking his head. "I'm sorry; I never meant to upset you."

"Erik--I wanted a church wedding."

His expression twisted with a mixture of annoyance and regret. "I assumed a private ceremony would be the most appropriate, considering the circumstances."

She closed the space between them, her face only a few centimeters from his. "Don't assume," she whispered, repeating his own words back. "Ask."

c. 2007 by Christine Levitt


	17. Chapter 17 Different Dreams

_**Chapter 17 Different Dreams**_

Unlatching her door, Meg tugged at his sleeve. "Hurry," she whispered, glancing down the empty corridor of her dormitory, "or someone will see."

Erik held back, staring at her in surprise. "No—!" he whispered. "I cannot!"

Taking one last look down the hall she placed her hand on his back and pushed. Afraid of losing his balance, Erik quickly shifted his crutches and lunged into her room. Hearing her close and latch the door behind him, he turned to study her in astonishment. There was a determined set to her jaw and her eyes flashed with suppressed anger. She was clearly not herself, he judged, wondering what had prompted her to resort to such an action as sneaking him into her room in the women's building. Narrowing his gaze upon her, he watched her press an ear against the door and listen intently.

Never would he have assumed she would be upset with him for announcing their plans to Ben, nor for assuming a private ceremony would be adequate. Granted, he should have let her break the news to Ben, and though he would have preferred discussing their plans beforehand, his time had been severely limited.

"I'm sorry, Meg," he whispered, watching her fingers curl into the wood of the door. "I assumed a private wedding would be easier to manage, with everything else…"

Turning her head to stare at him, she grabbed his arm and escorted him away from the door. "I don't think anyone saw us," she whispered, "but this is the only place where we can talk—sit down."

He watched her move toward the sofa that faced a small fireplace. "All right, but I'd rather it wasn't in your room," he stated, following her toward the sitting area.

"What's the matter, Erik," she said, glancing over one shoulder, "concerned about propriety?"

He pursed his lips as she swept her skirt close and sat down with a flourish. "We are engaged, after all," she said with a hint of bitterness.

Holding her gaze for a moment, he decided to do as she asked. Shrugging the crutches out from under his arms, he seated himself somewhat awkwardly and slid the crutches to the floor at his side. Stretching his sore leg before him, he leaned back and swept his gaze around the pleasantly furnished room, telling himself to appear relaxed and comfortable. Inwardly his gut clenched with uncharacteristic dread.

The lantern she had left lit cast a soft, welcoming glow to the room. Upon the mantle stood a collection of colored bottles which held sprigs of differing blossoms, all blending to form a subtle aroma that was spicy yet sweet. One glance toward the half opened door which apparently led to her bedroom caused him to look away abruptly, focusing instead on the oak secretary and chair opposite him. It was open and revealed a tidy collection of papers, pens and small jars of paint. At Meg's left stood a small table that overflowed with piles of fabric and a sewing box, the only part of the room in disarray. Beyond his bent knee was a low table which held volumes of books, a quick scan revealing their subject areas to be Scripture, poetry and classics. He raised one brow as for the first time he wondered about her intellectual interests, realizing they had never discussed them.

"Although our relationship is far from normal," she interrupted his thoughts, prompting him to look up into her strangely chilly gaze, "I would hope we might try to manage it as predictably as possible."

He raised a hand to his jaw. "By sneaking up to your room late at night, against the rules?"

Her gaze faltered a bit before she shifted her attention to a speck of lint upon her skirt. "This is an exception."

"I see," he breathed, silently tapping his fingers upon the cushion. She sat at the farthest edge of the sofa, a quarter turn facing him.

She looked up and cleared her throat. "I do realize how desperately you wish to resolve your situation—"

"Our situation."

She blinked but held his stern regard. "However I feel it is important that we work together as any normally engaged couple would in planning a wedding."

Erik felt an unexpected wave of loss flood him with surprising strength. Softening his gaze, he swallowed with some effort. "I regret not having the liberty to do so," he said thickly. "Though I wish I could offer you more..." _Much more._

A glint of pain flashed in her eyes, but was quickly suppressed. She turned a bit more toward him. "Whatever our marriage is to be in private, it must pass the public test of society—I believe that was our agreement—"

"Assuming it is given place in that society," he clarified.

She put a hand up. "Please Erik, just listen to what I have to say."

He bowed his head in acceptance. "All right then—state your objections."

She frowned. "Not objections but conditions," she answered. "Requirements, in fact—"

"We have already discussed the conditions—"

"Even if ours is to be only a marriage of convenience."

Their gazes collided and he winced at the tone of disapproval she placed upon that final word. Apprehension began to creep over him like a poisonous spider but he stretched his arm along the edge of the arm of the sofa.

"I am listening," he prompted somewhat impatiently.

Her expression twisted with frustration. "You're going to make me do this entirely on my own, aren't you?"

He spread his hands wide. "Do what?"

"Outline all the details!" she objected. "Elucidate all the requirements dictated by normal etiquette!"

"Why not when you've taken the lead so far?" he grinned sarcastically. "Please, do continue!"

"Don't mock me!"

Immediately regretting his cynical tone, he shook his head. "I'm not—but you must admit the circumstances are far from normal."

She leaned back against the sofa, staring at him in obvious confusion. "Do you realize how often you change moods, Erik?"

He frowned and prepared to answer.

"And why must you be so cynical?" she continued without allowing him to. "Have you no hopes or dreams?"

Not needing to consider it, he shrugged. "Most of my dreams have been crushed."

Her eyes misted with what must be tears, confounding him. "Well don't crush mine!" she choked.

He studied her with growing suspicion. "Are you marrying me, or one of your dreams?"

"Both—but I could ask you the same question!"

She had a point, he conceded, considering the fact that he was indeed guilty of imagining he could protect her and Louise at the same time. Marriage would hardly correct all the problems they faced. Effectively silenced, he followed her movements as she got up and went to stand before the cold fireplace, hugging herself with obvious frustration.

Watching her carefully, he remembered something she had said just before agreeing to marry him. It was when Isaac was calling for him, interrupting their first opportunity to speak in private since their arrival. She had demanded to know if he considered them friends, and he had answered in the affirmative. Though their friendship was the one true bond they shared, here they were both threatening it by fighting over a few small details. Reaching for his crutches, he stood and made his way toward her. Stopping just behind her, he rued the fact that he was unable to take her hand or put his arm around her shoulders. Vowing to spend all his time in therapy until he was able to lay aside the crutches, he bent his head toward her, inhaling the fragrance of her hair.

"Forgive me, Meg," he said gently, covertly studying her profile. "I will speak to Pieter about performing the ceremony in the chapel, if that is what you desire."

She turned her head, surprised by how close their faces were but recovered quickly enough. Her eyes traveled over his face as if to confirm his stated change of mind. "Are you sure, Erik?"

He straightened. "I want you to be happy, and to have your dreams…I just find it difficult to see myself as part of them, unless of course they are nightmares."

She tilted her head, not at all amused by his joke. "Then you need a new perspective, Erik."

"Really? Such as?"

"Mine," she suggested with a shrug. "And I do have plenty of dreams to share…if you are willing."

He looked into her warm, luminous eyes. "I am willing, provided I am given the opportunity."

She held his gaze, slowly raising a hand toward his face. Flinching in response, he saw her freeze, her eyes telling him that he had hurt her feelings. He closed his eyes and shook his head in regret.

"I'm sorry I did that," he whispered, looking at her once again. "I did not mean to..."

After a moment she nodded, shifting her attention to the deformed side of his face. He could feel her gaze as it traveled over the uneven surface of his face like a caress. When she reached up again he stiffened, forcing himself to remain motionless. He felt her fingertips brush the skin of his cheek, then the gentle press of her palm along his jaw. Without intending to, he removed his hand from his right crutch and laid it alongside her cheek.

Their breathing was the only sound that could be heard as they looked into each other's eyes. His throat went dry at the expression he read there, but he could not look away. Slowly lowering her hand, she placed it over his heart, making it leap toward her touch. For once his mind went completely blank as he watched her lean closer.

"One of the requirements is your heart," she whispered, her touch burning through the lightweight fabric of his shirt onto his skin. "I need your heart," she added, her gaze lowering to his lips before returning to his eyes. "Even more than I need your protection or your loyalty."

_You already have it,_ he thought, feeling as if he had actually said the words.

"But if you cannot give me even a piece of your heart," she was saying, "then there is no need to continue making any plans."

As soon as she said it he realized it was an ultimatum, and that if he could not meet it he risked losing her. Aware of her seeming ability to discern his thoughts, he knew that the slightest hint of insincerity would not escape her notice.

He swallowed. "I cannot give what I do not own," he tried to explain.

Studying him carefully, she lifted her hand from his chest and raised her chin. "All right—then I will settle for a piece of your mind."

Not at all convinced she would be satisfied with that, he considered it as a starting point in their relationship. _Once the mind was set, perhaps the heart would follow?_

"It's not too much for a wife to ask," she prompted, watching him expectantly.

He slowly shook his head. "No," he stated, "it's not too much to ask."

He felt her hand settle over his where he gripped his crutch like a lifeline. "Then might I have a claim, to either your heart or your mind?"

The prospect of his future hung like a dark, threatening cloud over him. This was undoubtedly his only hope of ever building a life with her, yet her power over him was intimidating. Without knowing it she already held enough claim over him to destroy him, perhaps even more devastatingly than Christine had. Yet as he looked into her eyes he sensed that she would not. Sending out a silent cry for guidance, he felt an immediate response. Peace…it flooded his core, filling him unexpectedly but as tangibly as the clamp of a strong hand upon his shoulder, encouraging him to trust. He suddenly found himself nodding in agreement.

"I think you know that you already do," he answered with complete honesty, surprising himself.

A tiny smile teased her lips as she held him in her gaze. "But upon which?"

He dragged his gaze from her lips, meeting her gaze. "I'm—not sure… but you have laid claim."

Her face lit with pleasure as she took his arm, turning him around. "Good, then it's settled—but if Friday is the day there are many things which need to be done beforehand," she said, walking him toward her door.

He glanced down at her while he swung between his crutches. "I will leave that up to you."

She put a hand on his arm. "Everything?"

"You make the arrangements," he decided before she could object. "I know you wanted to plan things together, but I will not have the time, to my regret."

He came to a stop at the door and watched her cross her arms. "There are some things for which I will need your input, but if you are unavailable I will be left with guessing what you would say."

"I am confident you will manage perfectly," he assured her. "In the meantime, Pieter has put me in touch with a lawyer so that I may prepare a plan for dealing with the authorities, either directly, through him, or a combination of the two."

Her forehead creased with worry. "Do you think you will have to leave very soon?"

"Not if I can help it."

"Then there is something you can do, to delay things?"

"Let me work out those details while you handle the rest."

She put her hands on her hips. "You're not going to tell me anything about that either, are you?"

"I cannot," he sighed. "At least not yet."

She pouted. "I suppose I must respect your right to confidentiality."

"Why thank you, Mademoiselle," he said with a slight bow, moving aside so that she could open the door. "Now I must be off before I'm discovered and incur the wrath of the parish."

She laughed softly, lifting the latch. "Do you mind if I enlist Arlene's help?"

"Not at all… and I do regret your mother's absence, Meg."

She sighed. "So do I…but she understands."

He moved aside for her but she continued to gaze up at him, her expression dreamy. Smiling down at her, he raised one brow at her hesitance. "You are quite finished with me?"

She bit her bottom lip. "Well…there is one more thing."

He waited for whatever condition she might add to their agreement, too aware of the late hour and impropriety of his presence in her room. What punishment could be reserved for those found trespassing here, he wondered.

Momentarily lost in thought he did not anticipate her moving closer or placing her hands on his shoulders. She rose suddenly on her toes, focusing her gaze somewhere in the direction of his mouth. Without realizing what he was doing Erik lowered his head toward hers. At the moment her lips grazed his he stiffened, overcome by the power just a soft press of her lips upon his. His senses heightened with astounding perception as he studied the dark brush of her eyelashes upon her cheek and felt her fingertips touch the side of his neck. A second softly bestowed kiss stole his breath and closed his eyes long after he felt her move away. Silence reigned in the room.

Finally exhaling a ragged breath, Erik opened his eyes. Upon her face was an expression of shock, amusement and longing before it was swiftly swept away. Instead she offered him a sweet smile and appeared to wait for his reaction. Telling himself to inhale, he found himself incapable of any other task. He could only stare into the warm inviting depths of her brown eyes.

"I thought we should practice," she said softly, her eyes dancing, "you know, before we have to kiss in front of everyone at the chapel."

_She literally thinks of everything, _he realized, watching her slowly open the door just enough to peek out. "Good idea," he said hoarsely as she glanced back over her shoulder at him.

A mischievous smile lit her expression. "All clear."

Two hours later Erik leveled himself up onto the back step of his own building and set aside one crutch to pull open the door. Feeling exhausted and frustrated, he counted the time spent roaming the parish beneath a starry sky a waste, for it had done little to calm his fears or diminish the fiery desire Meg's kisses had awakened in him. Shoving through the door, he entered the foyer by means of a complicated transfer of crutches and hops necessary for the feat. Finally, leaning back against the wall to rest and catch his breath, he closing his eyes and gripping the handles of his crutches, at a loss as to how to handle himself. His efforts to find the way to the lake in the dark had proven unsuccessful. There were just too many exit routes leading away from the cluster of buildings with which he was familiar, likes spokes of a giant wheel which had no end. He had thought to dive into the cold springtime waters in order to rid himself of the heated passion coursing through his body, but it seemed Ben would have to be the one to show him how to get there. Had he not shared the willow pond with Meg it might have proved a suitable alternative into which he might dive and cool himself off in more ways than one.

Now with a second plan in place he repositioned his crutches, determined to get to his room without further delay. Hopefully, if he locked himself inside and poured over the Scriptures enough he would find relief, perhaps even wisdom and the strength to endure his intended marriage of convenience he had insisted upon. Yet still, now that Meg had kissed him, he was filled with pure panic and doubt that he could manage such an arrangement without driving himself mad.

_How will I manage to be with her day and night and not want more? Just one kiss and I am nearly undone…_

Running a hand over his face, he realized that there was more than desire with which he had to deal. Something about her was irresistible, and it went deeper than her beauty and soft touch. He admired her quick wit and optimism, and found her friendship surprising satisfying. Furthermore, the emotional bond which had formed between them during their flight here scared him to death. Never had he been able to control or trust his emotions, yet Meg seemed to relish them with gusto. Dropping his head back against the wall, he gripped his crutches and prepared himself for the long journey up to his room.

At the sound of scuffling footsteps overhead he tensed and shot away from the wall, moving quickly into the shadows beneath the staircase. As the sounds drew closer he flattened his back against the wall and held his breath, almost feeling the tremor of passing footsteps as they descended the stairs. Closing his eyes and praying not to be discovered, he heard them whisper toward the opposite end of the corridor and pause before the distant scrape of a door told him it was opened and closed. Then there was silence.

He stayed hidden beneath the staircase, his mind racing. The hour was late, well past midnight. Who would be up this late, and why? He wondered about the other patients in the building whom Ben and Pieter had both mentioned to him, as well as Pieter's suggestion to go to them. It had something to do with deformities and children, so gripping the handles of his crutches he swung out into the corridor, intent on following them. Perhaps It was time to find out.

Moving down the ramp at the opposite exit, he gained the path and followed it away from the infirmary, toward gardens he had only viewed from the other side of the parish. Detecting no sign of their preceding him, he continued in the only direction the path led. Preferring to follow undetected, he stayed close to the edge of the path where the boughs of the trees overhang and the brush was thick. To his surprise, the ground was well traveled and he was able to move fairly easily and soundlessly, even with crutches.

Passing the gardens he approached the vineyard and skirted off the path along the edge of the woods. When he saw them off in the distance he slowed to a stop, watching their dark figures move in and out of the rows of vines. They were dancing, he realized as a smile spread across his face. And then he heard their muted laughter and singing. _Children._

Fascinated, Erik drew closer, careful to keep hidden by the woods. Laying a hand against a thick pine, he shifted the crutches to his side. There were others standing at the far edge of the field as if keeping watch, and he tried not to move as he gazed back at the children. Counting seven of them, he watched them skip and leap in the moonlight as they trailed vines behind them like kites or streamers. He had once read stories of fairy children from an anthology someone had discarded in an alley trash bin, and sensed he finally understood them. Effectively distracted, he failed to notice the soft thud of one of his crutches as it was tossed to the ground. Something jabbed into his shoulder and he whirled around, gripping the tree for support. Before him stood a heavily muscled man, only a few meters away. In the moonlight Erik could see his disapproving frown.

"What do you think yir doin'?"

Erik straightened, nodding over his shoulder. "I was enjoying watching them dance," he said honestly. "I mean no harm."

The man planted his hands onto his hips. "Who are you?"

"My name is Erik—I am a patient of Dr. Arnand's."

He watched the man glance down at his cut off trouser leg and heavy bandage. "What happened to you?"

"I was stabbed," he tried to explain. "By horse thieves."

The man looked up and waved his hand while the children continued to dance and play, blissfully unaware of the tension surrounding them. Erik sensed that someone else was nearby, watching him. But when no threat or demand issued forth, he began to relax as he watched the children.

"How can they do that?" he asked the watchman. "Play and dance with such abandonment?"

"They're children," was the gruff answer. "They have that gift."

Erik turned his attention back to the man. "Pieter advised me to get to know you; I came in late and heard footsteps, so I followed."

"Pieter said that?" the man grunted, shaking his head. "Well then it's fine wi' me," he said, coming closer and extending his hand. "Name's Aaron--two of those little ones are mine."

Erik shook his hand and they turned their attention back to the game of hide and seek being executed before their eyes. "They have a great deal of stamina for such a late hour," he observed.

Aaron laughed. "It's planned that way—they sleep all day jus' to be able to come out here."

Erik nodded, hearing the bushes rustle before someone stepped out of hiding. A woman appeared and went to Aaron's side, her movements quick and graceful. Erik was reminded of his own life of hiding in the tunnels beneath the opera house, only sometimes venturing out into the greater world of the streets. He wondered why these people lived this way, seeing no apparent reason for their behavior. They looked completely normal to him.

"My wife, Esther—this is Mon. Erik, dear."

Erik glanced at Aaron before nodding to her. "I am pleased to meet you, madam."

Her height reaching only to her husband's mid chest, Esther snorted at his title, lifting a hand to gesture toward him. "What happened to your face?" she asked without guile. For some reason it did not bother him in the least.

"I was born this way," he said, glancing at Aaron. "Until I came here, I had to hide from the rest of the world."

Husband and wife glanced at each other meaningfully. Esther looked back toward Erik. "Then you must be enjoyin' your stay," she replied, her eyes dropping to his outstretched leg. "Except for your poor leg."

"Stabbed by horse thieves," Aaron explained for him.

She shook her head. "I don't like horse thieves—they're cruel, having no mercy even for animals."

"We suffer from sun sickness," Aaron said suddenly, eyes following the children. "Some of us parents are normal, some not. It passes to one child but not another, a mystery."

"But not matter what or who, we've all become people of the night," Esther sighed.

Erik shifted his gaze back toward the children. "I am sorry…"

After a moment Esther took a step toward him. "I am sunsick," she offered quietly. "Aaron and Jamie are normal but my Lissy and I are not...they've given up their lives to be with us, and the others."

"We've given nothin' up that wan't worth a thousand times more," Aaron drawled, coming to her side to put his arm around her. Together they gazed out at the children.

.  
Deeply touched, Erik nodded. "Then you have chosen wisely," he replied, suddenly picturing Meg standing at his side as Esther was standing by her husband's. Painfully aware of his own struggle with anger and guilt, he studied Esther with interest, convinced that she had accepted her lot in life. And Aaron showed no indication of regret. Was it possible for him and Meg to come to the same place in their lives?

"Where are you from, Erik?" Aaron wanted to know.

He looked away, back toward the children. "Paris—Meg Giry brought me here."

"Meg is the ballet teacher," Esther seemed to tell her husband. "We've heard how her students love her…"

Erik turned to look at them in surprise. "You've never met?"

"She doesn't know about us, but we know of her," Esther explained. "Sometimes, when she has a late dance class, we all sneak close to the school and peek in through the windows to watch, but only if it's dark."

Erik straightened and placed his crutches beneath his arms. "Meg and I are engaged to be married," he said quietly. "Perhaps I could introduce you to her."

"Congratulations!" Aaron stated, looking to Esther.

"A wedding? How wonderful!" she said excitedly. "Is Pieter marrying you?"

"He is," Erik stated, glancing from one to the other as an idea formed in his mind. "On Friday at chapel."

"Oh how I wish we could watch!" Esther exclaimed. "The children have never seen a wedding."

Not sure he could believe it, Erik nodded nevertheless. "How long have you lived here?"

"Two years," Aaron stated. "We have moved a great deal…people don't always understand…"

"They think we're crazy, even calling us witches, or freaks," Esther said. "It isn't so bad for me, but it hurts the children."

Unable to bear the thought of children suffering as he had, Erik's heart ached for them. Even here they still lived separate lives, apart from the others. It was unjust, in his opinion.

"You know how we feel," Esther said quietly. "I can see the pain in you, Erik, though it is much stronger than ours."

Knowing that he might face more trouble than he wanted, Erik made a decision. "I would like you come to my wedding, you and your children," he told them. "And bring the others as well."

c. 2007 by Christine Levitt


	18. Chapter 18 The Dining Hall

**_Chapter 18 - The Dining Hall_**

_"Mhaaar-guerr-iiite..." _

_His whispered call sounded once again, beckoning her to come. She stopped and whirled around, listening intently despite the panting of her own breath. Eyes wide and heart pounding, she forced herself to remain still, and then she heard it again. It floated toward her like a soft echo, wooing her and asking for her trust. She ran in the direction from which it came, disregarding the fact that it was guiding her deeper into the maze of unnamed city streets. Darting from one alley to another, she crossed the main thoroughfares until enough timed had passed to make her doubt the wisdom of her chosen route. Then pausing just inside the shadows of another alley she listened, noting how the street lamps had burned low. Their bases were clothed in layers of mists now rolling in from the river. Surrounding her was the threat of a darkness deeper than the eye could see, and she knew she was not the only one about. When Erik's voice sighed her name once again she closed her eyes, letting it fill her mind and touch every nerve in her body. She had to find him in order to be safe. Then she started off again._

_Leaping across the puddles dotting the cobblestoned pavement, she traversed another section of the city as she searched for him. The dark sentinel towers brooding over the city threatened to trap her and hold her prisoner. Continuing along another side street, she heard his whisper once again, calling her on despite __the stitch in her side and the numbness of her feet. Her breath puffed out in tiny clouds before her as she clutched the dampened folds of her tattered dress closer. Behind her arose the sound of t__hundering steps, heavy boots marching in unison. Jolting into faster flight, she fled along the alleyway toward the distant spires of the cathedral, thinking to take refuge there should she not find him. But her toe caught on the uneven bricks and she stumbled, stifling a cry of protest. Regaining her balance, she hurried down another street which eventually funneled her toward an older neighborhood she did not recognize. Here the houses huddled close, their windows black against the strengthening moonlight. The dank odor of the river wafted into her nostrils but she pressed on, the heavy steps closing the distance between them. Then __she realized that it had been some time since Erik's voice had sounded. Thrown into a panic, she whispered his name and rushed across a deserted avenue, darting into the opposite alley. _

_Suddenly a hand latched onto her upper arm, jerking her roughly back into the darkness as a gloved hand covered her mouth. Effectively stifling her cry of protest he turned her in his arm, crushing her breasts with his grip. The sound of the approaching mob filled the atmosphere as he shifted his arm to cushion her back from the hard cold surface of the wall. Trapped, she stared up at him wild eyed, seeing only his profile as he fixed his gaze upon the street just beyond them. His elbow pressed against her ribs as the mob thundered past and continued up the avenue. They were so close but too intent upon whatever dark purpose they held. Nevertheless her captor leaned into her as they waited, listening to the sound of their passing. When he abruptly released her __she slumped back against the wall, watching in silence as he fled her side and followed the route of the mob. Hugging herself in the cold, she willed him to come back, for although she could not see him clearly she knew that it was Erik._

_It seemed like hours as she half stood, shivering and awaiting his return. It did not occur to her to hide from him, yet when she heard the soft pounding of his footsteps and saw the dark wing of his black cape unfurl toward her, she shrank back and raised her arm. The__ dazzling white lining of his cape flashed and she lowered her arm. His gloved hand circled her waist as he bent toward her ear. _

_"Fear not," he whispered, gathering her into the fold of his embrace. His hand slid down over her hip and he lifted her into his arms, straightening to his full height. "You are safe now," he breathed, leaving her no choice but to wrap her arms around his shoulders, beneath the sheltering warmth of his cape. He hurried her away, quickly covering the distance to a more fashionable section of the city. He carried her easily, despite his labored breathing from the pace with which he punished himself. "We must get you warm," he added with a whisper.  
_

_Answering him by pressing her face against his neck, she inhaled the warmth and pleasant scent of his skin. By the light of the dim street lamps she noted the townhouses with their iron gates and well kept but tiny lawns. Before long they skirted the edge of one building which stood apart from the others, and then h__e stepped down into a shadowed entryway and bent to lower her to her feet. Gripping his shoulder, she felt his arms slide away and watched as he reached into a deep pocket covering his thigh. He leaned past her to insert a key into the lock, not seeming to notice how she clung to him. As the spring snapped and the lock was sprung he turned to look down at her, making her breath catch at the silver light in his eyes. She forced herself to hold still as he slowly straightened, his eyes locked with hers until she broke the contact. But she could feel their touch as he studied her person, settling his gaze upon her her parted lips. She looked up._

_He was staring at her mouth, and she could see tiny lines creasing the corners of his eyes. The moonlight made his eyes appear silver and black, the whites bright in the darkness. The power of his regard made her feel weak, and she leaned back against the wall just as he bent his head and kissed her. Their touch was soft but commanding, closing her eyes and raising her hands to settle upon his chest. She fought for breath as his lips teased and explored hers. She felt his arm slide around her waist and could not help lifting her hand to his jaw. Tilting her head, she began to kiss him back, answering each questing touch of his finely molded mouth with her own shy demand for more. He groaned softly and she smiled, cupping the back of his head and pulling him down as she rose to her tiptoes. Gripping his jacket with one hand she pulled herself up against him, more hungry for him than life itself. But he broke off their kiss and urged her inside, kicking the door shut behind them until he finally gave in to his own hunger._

With a jerk her legs Meg awoke suddenly. Completely disoriented, she lifted her head and stared in disbelief at the bright light streaming into her room. Tightening her arms around her extra pillow, she lay back down, surprised at the way her body tingled with desire. One moment Erik was kissing her, the next she was alone, gripping her pillow. Thinking it a poor substitution for the man, she flung the pillow aside and lay her palm over her forehead, closing her eyes. But it was too late to will herself back to sleep, back to the fantasy world of recurring dreams.

He had haunted her dreams ever since the night he had rescued her. They were always the same, until today. She was being chased, Erik rescued her and brought her safely home. But this time he brought her to his home, and even more shocking he kissed her senseless. And she kissed him back! Running her hand down over her face she let it drop, realizing why the dreams had changed so dramatically. It was because she had brougth him here, and now that she had she would pay dearly for it.

How could she have been so bold to sneak him up to her private rooms? What must he think of her now? Had he lost his respect for her, not only as a woman but as a friend? Of course it was true that this was the only place where they might speak in private, but she had to admit that her motives were mixed as the situation unfolded. At the beginning all he had wanted to do was leave, but then...

Remembering the look on his face after she had kissed him, she could not help smiling, despite his lack of enthusiasm in returning the gesture. Laying her fingertips over her lips, she remembered the way his had felt against hers. She had tested herself, and tested him. The end result was that her suspicions had finally been confirmed. Whether he desired it or not, Erik was attracted to her, despite all his carefully laid plans to deny and avoid it.

_Be careful Meg..._

She realized how deeply scarred Christine had left him, and had broken his heart. Of course he would not willingly enter another relationship, at least not so soon and under such adverse circumstances in which they now found themselves. Yet despite his insistence that their marriage be in name only, she wanted more. And she sensed that he did, too.

Flinging her arm out, she moved it slowly over the empty side of her bed and sighed. Why would anyone settle for a marriage of convenience, she wondered, especially when there was an attraction as strong as theirs. Was it meant to only provide safety and support until they could part and go their separate ways? If he was aquitted of all transgression before the law, would he prefer returning to his self imposed isolation? What if he preferred that state? How could she dare to take away his freedom?

Sighing in frustration, she switched her position and plumped the pillow beneath her chin. Well, Erik may be able to go free, but she would never be. Whether intentionally or not, he had bound her to him with every tone of his voice, every shifting emotion in his eyes and face, every touch of his hand. Though he did not know it, he had made her his prisoner, and she was the one who would never go free. With a muffled groan, she buried her face in the pillow.

_This is not only more difficult that I had imagined…it is humiliating._ She beat her forehead into the soft bulk of the pillow, embarrassed to have had to resort to bargaining the terms of their marriage and worse, to have lost. But he had agreed to act the loving husband at least until they filed for an annulment. Yet with all his responsibility in cleaning up the mess they left behind, she doubted he would even have the time to pretend to court her or even be with her as any fiancé would.

_Are not the men to initiate such things? _she complained to herself. Having had no experience with such matters, she realized that like Erik she had taken the easy route by avoiding them, until Christine. She on the other hand had been afraid of men most of her life. Rolling to her back, she placed a hand over her stomach as she remembered his expression last night. He, it seemed, was almost afraid of her and what she would do. It was laughable, considering his reputation for frightening the entire city of Paris. Why would he be afraid of her? He was the one who was unpredictable, demanding, highly emotional and unafraid. But he had saved her life, and in so doing had revealed to her his tender side, one he guarded from the rest of the world. And that had set her upon a course to find it again, whatever the cost.

A knock sounded on her outer door. "Meg!"

_Arlene!_ Propping herself onto her elbows she remembered they had a cooking lesson in the dining hall. Surely it could not yet be time for that? There was another knock, accompanied by Arlene's concerned call. Sitting up, she scampered off the bed and pulled on her robe.

"I'm coming!" she called, flying to the door and opening it a crack. "I'll be right out," she whispered sheepishly. "I'm sorry I'm late!"

Arlene planted her hands on her hips and studied her a moment. "Meet me there when you're ready: I've got a few things to get ready--late night?"

Meg felt herself blush as she nodded. "I had better get ready; meet you there."

Listening to the sound of her retreating steps, Meg covered her mouth and shut the door. Had she suspected? Had she heard them, or the sound of Erik's crutches on the stairs? Whatever the reason for her question, she rushed back into her room to get ready, trying to decide how to handle an accusation, should one arise.

A quarter hour later Meg struggled against the flow of people leaving the dining hall, her stomach growling with hunger. The hall was filled with delicious scents of freshly baked bread and sugared porridge, as well as the tang of fresh fruit. This was the last shift for breakfast and still she had missed it. It seemed that today everyone had come at the same time, and therefore left at the same time. Moving slowly into the building she scanned the crowd for a Arlene, her eyes locking unexpectedly with Erik's.

He stood at the far side of the room, one hand gripping Ben's shoulder to steady himself. Her brother was still seated, laughing at someone he faced while Erik waited for him to rise. She swallowed beneath the intensity of his gaze, unable to move for fear of breaking this contact with him. She was aware of her brother slowly getting up, noting Erik's gaze and turning to follow its direction. When he saw her he smiled and raised his arm, lifting his leg from the bench and taking Erik's arm. They both wore towels slung over their shoulders, and Erik shifted his attention to his crutches. Ben, on the other hand, started toward her, leaving Erik behind. She watched them make their way toward her, moving at the same time to meet them halfway across the large hall.

"We waited for you," Ben teased in mild accusation, nodding toward Erik who followed close behind him.

She grimaced, wondering how her late appearance would look to Erik. Last night she'd shoved him into her room, made demands upon him and kissed him not once, but twice. Now it was clear to all that she had overslept, though she had not made arrangements to dine with them. Even worse, this was the first time Erik had come here to eat, having previously dined alone in his room. As Ben came to her side she wondered if he had seen Erik leave her building last night. Had they spoken? Suddenly Arlene's question about her being up late seemed suspicious. Did they know she had broken house rules, and did they blame Erik instead of her?

Ben draped an arm over her shoulders and turned her to face Erik. Reaching up to try to displace his arm, he resisted. Struggling against him she saw Erik raise his brows as he halted before them.

"Where were you?" Ben teased her, "still sleeping?"

Shoving him away, she straightened, darting a glance at her fiancé. "I had no idea you would be waiting for me," she answered, throwing Erik a nervous smile. To her surprise, he shifted and raised a hand to capture hers.With his eyes locked upon hers, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, sending a shiver of delight up the length of her arm.

"Good morning," he said huskily, a knowing smile spreading across his face.

She stared into the darkening green of his eyes and swallowed. "Morning--I trust you slept well?"

Something darkened his eyes as his smile faded. He looked away, releasing her hand. "As well as can be expected."

Ben planted a hand on Erik's shoulder. "He's exhausted, but in case you haven't noticed we are going for a swim," he announced. "Time to work on getting our friend here off crutches and walking like the rest of humanity." Erik looked at him and Meg noted his appreciation for Ben's distracting them. "Care to join us?" her brother asked.

Flustered by Erik's erratic behavior she looked away, wondering where Arlene was. "I'm not free," she answered. "But don't let me keep you from your plans."

"She can't swim anyway," Ben quipped to Erik. "Someday we're just going to have to throw her in and force her to learn."

Her eyes shot to Erik, who was studying her as if she were an unidentifiable sighting in the telescope."Really?" he said softly."I would never have guessed."

"I will learn in my own time," she huffed at Ben. "Once I find the right teacher."

Ben chuckled and let his gaze drift over the thinning crowd. After glancing up at Erik's unreadable gaze, she followed Ben's eyes and saw Arlene standing at the entrance to the kitchen, obviously looking for someone. She raised her hand to get her attention.

"We had better go," Ben told Erik. "Isaac is waiting for us."

Meg glanced at him with some amount of relief. "You're going to the stables?"

He nodded. "Erik has to learn how to ride properly as well," he said as if Erik was not standing there. Catching himself, he turned back to Erik. "Once you abandon the crutches you'll need a lot of swimming to work out the cramping that's bound to follow. And after that I'll fit you with a walking cast, if necessary."

She shifted her gaze from one man to the other."Isn't that a lot to handle in one day?"

Erik caught and held her gaze, the corner of his mouth turning up. "I am in a hurry to get back on my own feet," he said blandly. "For obvious reasons."

Ben snorted, lifting his hand in farewell. "Meet me outside," he told Erik, walking away. "Don't keep him too long," he called back to Meg.

She frowned at his retreating form, still feeling the weight of Erik's gaze. When she met it his eyes burned as if in accusation, startling her.

"And how _was_ your sleep?" he asked, his voice a soft caress.

She lifted her chin. "Adequate," she replied as calmly as she could manage. "Why do you ask?"

His lips tightened. "I have two requests," he said, emphasizing the last word.

Feeling a wave of apprehension, she wondered if he would change his mind about marrying her. Had she repulsed him by her bold behavior? Angered him by her demands?

"What kind of requests?" she squeaked nervously, watching his eyes drop to her lips and snap back up.

"That we be married at the candlelight service," he answered, waiting for her objection but finding her speechless. "And I have invited some guests--a dozen or two people, including seven children."

Nonplussed, she could only nod, wondering about the guests and trying to reconcile his requests and the fact that only hours before he wanted a private ceremony. _What guests?_

"I—of course," she answered, glancing toward Arlene. To her dismay, her mentor seemed to have disappeared. She turned back to Erik. "I will mention them to Arlene and Pieter--"

"Not Pieter," he interrupted, glancing to his left. "Wait until this evening."

She stared at him in surprise. "This evening, why?"

He gave her his undivided attention once again. "We are meeting him for an early dinner, and counseling."

She'd heard nothing about a meeting, and for the first time was a little jealous of Pieter's closeness to him. "What kind of counseling?"

He looked away again, this time past her shoulder. "Marital counseling," he said coldly, nodding to someone. "I must go--Ben is waiting for me."

She put a hand on his arm, causing him to look down at it."Wait—" she asked, quickly snatching it back. "I'm sorry, Erik--I acted too boldly last night—"

"Never apologize for that," he warned softly, his gaze hardening. "Not to me."

Wanting to explain herself but gauging his mood as impatient, she held her tongue. Something changed in his expression as he studied her, frustration coming to the forefront. But he turned away without another word.

"Will I see you later?" she called after him, watching him grip the railing of the ramp.

He turned his head and nodded. "At 4, Pieter's office," he said before turning away to ease himself down the ramp. She was left alone to stand staring after him. Somewhat dazed from the encounter, she turned her head and saw Arlene standing by the kitchen, speaking with the chef. Starting toward her, she glanced back to see Erik and Ben moving toward the direction of the stables. With a sigh she prayed for their safety and Erik's recovery, suddenly eager to be finished with everything.

When she noted her presence Arlene nodded to the chef and came toward her. Once she reached her side she glanced after the direction Erik had taken. With a sigh of frustration she shook her head.

"Maybe someday you'll tell me what's really going on between you two," she said meaningfully, looking back at Meg.

Seeing the understanding in her eyes, Meg felt her own fill with tears. She shook her head and looked after him. "I have no idea," she choked.

Arlene stepped closer and gripped her arm. "What's wrong? Did you two have a disagreement?"

She shrugged her shoulders, forcing a smile as she met Arlene's gaze. "We're getting married."

Studying her for a moment, Arlene threw back her head and shouted. "Hallelujah!" she cried, causing the kitchen staff to pause and stare. Putting her arm around Meg's shoulders she steered her toward the kitchen. "I knew it!" she said under her breath. "This is perfect, and I'm so happy for you!"

Meg stared at her in disbelief. "But--how did you know?"

Arlene waved a hand. "Pieter cannot hide a thing from me; I could tell by the smug smile he started to wear after his last meeting with Erik. Not to mention the way the man stares at you when you don't suspect."

Hardly believing Arlene's observations Meg stopped inside the kitchen and turned to face her."Well I'm glad at least you and Pieter are happy about it," she breathed shakily.

Arlene nodded sympathetically. "Your intended seems to be somewhat uncomfortable with the idea, in some ways..."

"He's got far too much on his mind to concentrate on it," she defended Erik.

Arlene leaned closer. "But he's marrying a beautiful and wonderful woman who loves him dearly..."

Meg shook her head. "He's only agreed to it because he thinks I need protection."

Arlene took her hands and squeezed them. "Don't be fooled by the tricks of the mind, Meg. That man loves you, everyone can see it, and Pieter is sure of it."

"But Erik is not!" she whispered in protest. "He's planning an annulment as soon as he escorts me to someplace safe and settles his affairs," she complained, withdrawing a hand to wipe at her eyes.

Arlene sighed in frustration, turned her around and began opening the cabinets in search of whatever ingredients she had planned for them to tackle. "First and foremost we need to cook," she said, nodding toward a hook that held several aprons. Meg reached for a yellow one and handed it to her. She took it and quickly pulled it on. "By the time we have this chicken simmering you will have told me everything that has gone on between you two," she continued. "I want every detail beginning from your first look at him, up to and including what happened last night in your room—"

Meg grimaced as she tied her apron. There was no use denying it, she realized. "I needed to speak with him in private," she explained, too aware of the blush staining her cheeks.

Arlene smiled serenely."After that we will talk about men in general," she announced, placing a large pot on the stove. "And after that we will begin planning your wedding," she said, planting her hands on her hips with a deep breath. "How does that sound?"

Meg nodded, her mood improving by the moment. "It sounds wonderful," she answered, hugging Arlene's side. "I thank God for you, Arlene," she said sincerely, "I always have."

"Don't worry, don't go by what he says, just go by what is written upon his face and in those marvelous eyes of his," Arlene lectured, kissing her cheek. "Now, shall we begin?"


	19. Chapter 19 The First Step

_**Chapter 19 – The First Steps**_

Meg rounded the corner of the women's wing and halted abruptly when she saw Erik standing in the foyer. Placing a steadying hand on the wall, she felt her heart race and her knees go weak just looking at him. Her reaction to him grew worse every time she saw him, yet she could not seem to control it. Her better judgment reminded her that back home he was considered dangerous and unpredictable, someone to be avoided. Now, as she studied him and recognized the tension in him, she felt drawn to the vulnerability she sensed in him. Despite the fragility of their relationship, she found him utterly fascinating and compelling.

He was alone, and standing without the aid of his crutches, she noted. His eyes were fixed upon Pieter's closed door yet suddenly, as if sensing her presence, he straightened and turned his head, meeting her gaze. She watched his eyes light first with recognition, then caution.

"Good afternoon," he said softly, his eyes holding hers.

_Act completely normal,_ she told herself, pasting a serene smile upon her face. It wasn't easy, with that burning gaze of his flitting down her person. Slowly removing her hand from the wall she started toward him, painfully aware of her faded cotton dress and three-quarter length sleeves. But the day had grown progressively hotter and it was the coolest garment she had. Still, as he lifted hesitant eyes to hers she wondered if her casual attire made him uncomfortable. But as she came within two strides of him her concerns shifted to the increased difference in their height. His seemed to have increased without aid of his crutches, for now that he stood perfectly straight he was nearly another head taller than she. Tilting her head back, she held his gaze.

_Say something, Meg,_ her inward voice scolded.

"You've left your crutches behind," she blurted out, softening the blow with a hesitant smile. "You must be thrilled."

His eyes lit with pleasure. "I am," he admitted softly, leaning toward her. "Now I can tower over you even more threateningly than before."

Caught off guard, she stared at him. _Was he making a joke?_

His expression faltered as he cleared his throat. "I didn't mean that literally," he said, glancing toward Pieter's closed door in a sudden appeal for admittance.

_He was!_ she realized, reaching out to clutch his arm. "For good, and after only one day of swimming? Why that's wonderful!"

He turned his head to stare at the hand she had placed upon his arm, and she was reminded of the power of even a simple gesture. When his eyes met hers she realized that he was flustered, his expression guarded. Releasing him, she smiled encouragingly to cover up her disappointment for bringing such an unexpected change to his mood.

"It was hours of swimming," he corrected softly. "Ben released me from their use, not one hour ago."

She frowned. "But you left this morning."

He sighed tiredly. "The regimen included one hour of mounting and dismounting lessons, followed by jarring ride to the lake, then alternating shifts of swimming and exercise."

For the first time she noted the paleness of his skin, and planted her hands on her hips. "In this heat? You must be exhausted."

His eyes probed hers a moment, as if he were seeing her for the first time.

"I've a mind to chasten my dear brother for being so thoughtless!" she fumed.

After a moment's hesitation he leaned a bit closer. "That won't be necessary, since I submitted to it. But you might pray that I do not fall asleep during Pieter's lecture," he stated conspiratorily.

He was so close that she caught the lingering scent of his soap, drawing her eyes to the unfastened collar at the base of his neck. In the heat of the day he had left off jacket and vest, and she allowed herself to note the perfect fit of his linen shirt over what appeared to be a strongly muscled chest. At this proximity his masculinity awed her, stirring feelings deep inside her. Suddenly realizing that she was staring at his chest, she shot her gaze back to his where he caught it like a trap, shutting her in. And then she knew.

Her simple touch upon his arm had clearly unsettled him, but now he was just as aware of her skittishness around him. The knowing look in his eyes drew her so strongly that it was impossible to look away. He straightened slowly, lifting one brow in invitation, challenging her to deny it. In that moment they became fully aware of this shift in their relationship, as well as the fact that they were entering into marriage without pretense. The subtle look of triumph in his eyes encouraged her to admit the physical attraction which was growing between them. She knew as clearly as if he had verbalized it that future inhibitions could hold no place in their marriage, despite their prearranged plans. This was something which would have to be dealt with, and there could be no turning back. Now they both knew it, and it was apparently that he had accepted the change. Staring up at him, she knew that he was waiting for her to do the same thing.

Feeling unsettled, she nevertheless nodded in silent agreement, thrilled by the answering fire which lit his eyes. Realizing it was her turn to speak, she curled her fingers around his wrist and leaned close.

"If you do fall asleep," she whispered, "I shall have to bear some of the blame and admit to inviting you to my room late last night, so yes, I shall pray most fervently that you do not."

His eyes narrowed upon hers for a moment before he threw back his head and laughed heartily. She took his arm in both hands just as the door opened abruptly. Pieter's face registered his shock as his eyes darted from Erik to her and he forced a smile to cover his surprise. Stepping aside to admit them, he waited at the door until Erik escorted her into the room.

"You are both late," they heard him scold as the door closed behind them. Meg glanced up to find Erik's eyes smiling down upon her just before he sobered.

"My apologies," he stated in a much lower voice, turning to extend his hand to Pieter's. A wonderful aroma filled the room, very much like the meal she and Arlene had prepared earlier. Glanced toward the sideboard on the opposite wall she noted the covered dishes, silver and wine glasses set out. Why didn't Arlene tell her they were cooking for this meeting?

"We do have a lot to discuss," Pieter began, gesturing toward the food. "But first we'll have an early dinner."

"You know why I'm late," she stated, following him toward the food but glancing back at Erik as he followed them with a somewhat stiff gait. "Arlene and I spent half the day cooking."

Pieter smiled in appreciation as he picked up a china plate. "She took a nap herself," he informed her, digging into the potatoes.

Erik came silently to her side and handed her a plate. "It smells delicious," he told her, his eyes twinkling in the manner she loved so much.

Pieter passed on to the main course, lifting the cover and inhaling the steam. "I have been ordered to report to her your comments when we've finished," he said, overloading his plate and turning to go to his desk. Meg spooned a portion of vegetables onto Erik's empty plate and passed to the next item. She noted how Erik turned to watch Pieter settle at his desk and bend to open the bottom drawer of his desk. Then he leaned closer, his gaze transferring to her.

"You cooked for us?" he whispered with a hesitant smile.

"I didn't know it at the time," she whispered back, smiling mischievously. "Arlene insists that a wife must have good cooking skills, and apparently our first luncheon together was only the beginning."

He dropped a dollop of potatoes onto her plate, then his."Then I look forward to many such samplings," he stated, following her toward the main course as she nodded her thanks. Forking a generous serving of the chicken onto his plate, she added some to her own and handed him a rolled napkin containing the silverware.

"I meant to congratulate you on your progress, Erik," Pieter called to him, waving his fork toward him. "I can hardly believe you are off the crutches already."

"The credit belongs to Ben," he replied, glancing at the wine as he poured her a glass. "Although when we finished he admitted to perhaps overdoing it today."

Meg nodded her thanks to him as she took her glass and waited while he poured one for himself.

"It will prove taxing at first, not having used your leg for some time," Pieter commented. "What did he have you do?"

Erik watched her take a tiny sip, glancing next at Pieter. "I swam for two one hour intervals, in between learning how to exercise the leg and work out the cramps."

"You both rode to the lake?"

"Yes; I neglected to mention all the lessons in mounting and dismounting. "

"Sounds like a grueling schedule to me," Pieter said with a shake of his head, digging back into his chicken.

Meg looked up at him with concern."Were you able to have lunch?"

"We had a boxed lunch, but that was hours ago."

Pieter looked and swallowed, glancing at her expression of concern. "You must be exhausted!"

He shrugged in response. "If it helps me recover sooner then I count it worth the effort."

Meg joined Pieter to stare up at Erik with mild awe. She could very well imagine the clash of wills that must have occurred between patient and physician. Ben was notorious for his demanding exercise routines to help his patients recover to the fullest extent. Though normally carefree in spirit, he could be relentless and unyielding. Considering Erik's equally iron will she could almost picture how difficult it must have been for him to submit to Ben's therapy for nearly the entire day. Sensing that Pieter was thinking the same thing, she looked over at him with a mild grimace. Pieter cringed as he nodded toward Erik.

"Is he always this stalwart?"

Embarrassed at Pieter's assumption that she would know such a thing, she nodded with a confidence she did not feel. "For as long as I have known him," she replied, acutely aware of Erik's eyes upon her. "In fact, I believe it is one of his best qualities."

Pieter glanced at Erik and nodded, turning his attention back to his dinner. As she turned to go to her chair Erik stepped before her as if to block Pieter's line of vision. Holding his plate in one outstretched hand, his glass in the other, he bent his head toward her.

"You have no idea how stalwart I can be," he whispered to her hearing alone, his teasing expression shifting to frank interest as his eyes traveled over her face.

She stared up at him in mute surprise, basking in the warmth of those eyes and noting the devilish grin curving his lips. Opening her mouth but finding no adequate reply she watched him turn and walk calmly toward his seat. Following in his wake, she watched him set his plate upon the small table standing between their chairs. When she came to her seat he raised his wine glass and took a sip, his eyes holding hers.

Flustered but fixing a serene smile upon her face, she sat down and positioned her plate upon her lap. Hardly believing what just happened, she carefully unrolled her silverware from the cloth napkin with the utmost care. From the corner of her eye she noted how slowly he lowered himself to the chair, gripping his thigh and carefully extended his leg. Concentrating on the strong hand laid upon his thigh she realized that he was wearing dark trousers in place of the cut off ones. Beneath the fine grain of the fabric she could detect only the hint of bandaging beneath. Stabbing a piece of chicken she lifted her fork and popped it into her mouth, looking up to meet his waiting gaze. A burning silver light glowed in his eyes as they locked onto hers, making her glance down to his lips. Mesmerized by the slow movement of his mouth as he chewed, she swallowed with some difficulty and turned her attention back to her plate.

Pieter, she noted with a covert glance, was busy studying the papers he had taken out as he prepared to being the business of this meeting. Sobering immediately, she ate at a faster rate, mourning the loss of their lighter mood and fearing that once they were married the teasing and flirting would cease. Erik had insisted they keep their marriage equally businesslike, adding to the sudden sense of grief she felt. As she concentrated on her potatoes she felt a lump rise in her throat, stealing away all appetite.

Erik on the other hand ate with gusto, as Pieter had. Shifting her glance to Pieter's downcast eyes and the way he slowly twirled his wineglass, she picked at her food and remained silent as the men tossed casual conversation back and forth. At her silence Pieter glanced at her with mild concern, forcing her to offer a comment now and then despite the face that she suddenly longed to flee the room. Their agreement was about to come under Pieter's hawklike scrutiny, yet as she glanced at Erik's profile she had the sense that he had no idea what they were about to face in the upcoming session.

"What's wrong?" Pieter asked, startling her from her thoughts. Looking at him with what she hoped was a calm expression, she glanced at Erik, who also watched her with the same intensity.

Carefully lowering her fork, she smiled wanly. "I think the heat may have stolen my appetite," she offered blandly.

Pieter's eyes narrowed just a bit but he nodded. "You did spend half the day over a hot stove," he stated, glancing at Erik.

Erik cleared his throat, drawing her attention to his empty plate. "It was an excellent meal," he said quietly. "Thank you."

_Please Lord, interrupt us! _she prayed silently, tugging at her high collar. _I don't want to discuss our marriage with Pieter!_ "It has gotten quite hot in here..." she said softly.

Erik's eyes darted to the offending stricture of her collar but he said nothing. Thankfully Pieter pushed back from his desk and rose to go to the windows. "I should have left these open," he said with his back to them, opening up one, then another.

She glanced at Erik, finding his eyes upon her. Further flustered, she lifted her glass and drank half the contents before she remembered it contained wine, not water. Glancing back at Erik she saw his eyes light with humor before they shifted to her nearly empty glass.

"There!" Pieter declared, returning to his desk and sitting down. He patted his full stomach. "It was a wonderful meal which I shall be sure to report back to your supervisor."

A cool breeze floated into the room and she smiled gratfully. "I am glad you both enjoyed it," she answered as he gathered his papers in preparation for their meeting. She glanced over at Erik, who averted his gaze somewhere toward the foot of Pieter's desk, looking instantly somber.

"Well then," Pieter said without looking up, "in consideration of the heat and the fact that you both have had a busy day I will keep this as brief as possible." He looked up, first at Erik.

"Good," he agreed, straightening in his chair and laying a hand over his wounded thigh.

Meg found her eyes drawn to that hand, then up his forearm where she noted the dark sprinkling of hair now that his sleeves were rolled up. Glancing higher, she stared at his opened collar and saw tiny dark hairs peeking out from the parted fabric. His masculinity seemed a bit overwhelming, as did the challenge in his stare. He had caught her staring, making her even more uncomfortable. Yet she shifted in her chair and placidly joined her hands in her lap, turning her attention back to Pieter.

"I want you to both to know," Pieter began, looking at the directly, "that since Erik first informed me of your plans to marry I have spent a considerable amount of time in prayer..."

Feeling a stab of resentment that they had discussed it in her absence, Meg bit her lower lip. _He needs to share his thoughts with other men _she told herself, pardoning them for excluding her. Suddenly feeling threatened by the whole problem of communication she and Erik often faced, she hoped that he had interpreted her bold behavior last night as she intended it. Kissing him had been her way to communicate her acceptance of him, and she had thought it worked. But if they were to avoid like intimacy once they were married, she doubted her abilities to make him understand. Perhaps she would dare another touch or kiss in the future, should all other efforts to communicate fail...

"…so in conclusion I am happy to inform you that I am convinced your plans to wed are truly God's will," Pieter finished. She shot her attention to him, meeting his gaze over the steepled fingers he had raised before him. Horrified that she had been daydreaming again, she watched his expression soften before he directed it toward Erik.

Following his gaze to her intended, she noted how intently he met Pieter's regard. In the ensuing silence her mind registered the fact that Pieter said he approved of their marriage, and believed it was God's will. But how could he be so sure, she wondered, knowing all the problems they faced? Did he realize the fact that Erik intended to share a marriage in name only, if he had even mentioned it to him? As the silence lengthened she became aware of the soft sound of Pieter's Bible pages turning as they waited for Erik's reaction.

"I would like to share some wisdom from the Holy Scriptures," Pieter stated, clearing his throat before he began to read to them. She forced herself to look at him instead of at Erik.

"'There are three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not," Pieter read, glancing up at Erik before continuing again. "'The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a young woman.'"

Meg glanced guiltily at Erik, staring at the nerve which pulsed in his cheek. When he did not look at her she felt an unreasonable stir of anger toward his limiting their marriage to one of convenience. _How could he, when he has feelings for me? I know he does!_

Pieter stabbed his finger into the page, bringing her attention back to him. "Marriage is God's design for expressing the highest form of love which exists among humankind," he interpreted for them. "It is second only to the love of God, higher than that directed to our fellow man.

Meg swallowed and dared to nod in agreement as she met his gaze. But it shifted to Erik.

"Marriage reproduces life," he said with a clear sense of respect for the institution. "It thus expresses a love meant to continue beyond husband and wife, extending a blessing to the following generations through the creation of children."

Well aware of his and Arlene's struggle to have children, Meg sensed Pieter's respect for the Scriptures which had yet to be realized in his own marriage. Still, it was clear that Pieter accepted and honored the admonition. She was afraid to think, however, that Erik might use their example as an excuse not to even consider children. What little they had discussed on the subject failed to satisfy her and though she feared broaching it before Pieter she knew it was too important to neglect.

"Scripture teaches us that marriage is a sacred covenant," Pieter went on, "the molding of two people into one being. It is not to be entered into lightly, and once covenanted it must be guided, practiced and protected in submission to its Creator. I realize that you both already have a sense of what this implies, yet in the practical application of these principles certain problems do tend to arise…"

Meg shifted nervously, avoiding looking at either man. Erik's prolonged silence troubled not only her, but Pieter as well.

"I hope you both realize I only mean to help," Pieter emphasized. Meg looked at him, then at Erik's stony profile. "And you mustn't forget that I have already stated my support of your decision. I only share a few trustworthy suggestions which have proven helpful for many couples before you, and no doubt after you."

She glanced apprehensively at Erik, wishing he would say something. To her surprise, Pieter addressed her first.

"Meg, I need to ask you one thing," he began, capturing her complete attention. For the first time she was aware of Erik's eyes upon her as well.

"Of course," she breathed, smoothing her hands down her gown as she held Pieter's gaze. "What is it?"

"I need to be sure that you do not fear Erik in any way."

Her eyes flew to Erik, who was watching her intently. She looked at Pieter and laughed nervously."Afraid of Erik?" she exhaled, feeling much more at ease. "No, of course I'm not afraid of him."

At her side Erik tensed despite her words. Glancing at him with a slight grimace, she took a deep breath. "I do feel a bit left out," she admitted, returning her attention to Pieter, "knowing how close you two have become."

Pieter nodded. "That is a fair observation, and I do apologize," he answered, leaning closer to lay his arms upon his desk. "I do wish to return to the subject of your feelings for Erik."

She glanced at Erik, who sat as if on alert. "Of course," she agreed, wondering where to begin and how much to share. As she hesitated to collect her thoughts she heard him inhale sharply.

"I could not bear it if you were afraid of me," he admitted quietly, earning a pleased smile from Pieter.

Her eyes widened. "I'm not afraid of you, Erik," she emphasized. "Surely you know that by now."

"Excellent!" Pieter stated, concentrating on her. "I mention it for two reasons: Erik's past struggles with his unfortunate lot in life, as well as your own troubling history of having suffered an attack upon your feminity."

She stared at the pain gathering in Erik's expression, realizing for the first time that she owed him one admission which she had never shared with anyone, not even her own mother. Holding his gaze, she gripped the arms of her chair. "I am afraid of men," she confessed, staring at the whitening knuckles of her own hand. "Particularly if I am caught unaware, should someone touch me in a manner which may not be intended as threatening."

"That is perfectly understandable," Pieter soothed. "Now tell me if I have ever frightened you."

She looked at him in surprise. "No, of course not!" she laughed, the very idea seeming ridiculous.

"How about Ben?"

"No! He is like a brother to me."

"And Erik?"

"Certainly not Erik," she declared, sitting back and glancing from him to Pieter. "Erik is the one who rescued me," she stated firmly, fixing her gaze upon him. "I owe you my life...I would never fear you."

He shook his head. "Any decent man would have done the same," he answered, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"No, they would not have, not with the threat of facing their own harm," she insisted, looking back at Pieter. "Erik has never threatened me in any way--I trust him completely."

"Of course you do, as friend and protector," Pieter acknowledged, his gaze unwavering. "But do you trust him as the man who is to become your husband?"

Without hesitation, she nodded. "Yes, I do."

Erik leaned toward her. "Even after the way I behaved with--back in Paris?" he had to know.

"Yes, even after that," she stated firmly. "But I do fear your returning to Paris," she admitted. "I fear the mob set against you, having been pulled into its midst for only a moment."

"We trust that will not be a threat," Pieter said, looking at Erik again. "I wished only to confirm her feelings, Erik; let me assure you that a guiding hand has already shown itself to be at work in your lives."

Erik nodded, offering her a sympathetic glance as Pieter continued.

"Now as for this marriage of convenience," he said, glancing between them. "Some discussion is necessary before we have finished."

"Meg and I have discussed it and are in agreement," Erik said without emotion.

"I sense some resistance in Meg," Pieter commented, turning to her. "I do not, however, object to his insistence upon it, given your present circumstances."

Meg was astounded. After outlining the holiness of marriage and its purposes for childbearing, she found it incomprehensible that he would support Erik's decision. "I—don't understand…"

Pieter raised a hand. "Only temporarily of course," he agreed. "Until legal and civil matters are settled."

She glanced at Erik, whose eyes were filled with regret. "But you said that marriage is meant to produce life, children…"

"Yes, in due time, provided there exists a safe haven for their nurturing," Pieter clarified. "As for afterward, although I do not wish to make you uncomfortable--"

"I already am," Erik replied, gesturing toward the papers spread over Pieter's desk. "But go ahead, since you have obviously prepared well for your defense."

Pieter smiled. "I have—but it is not my defense." He chose three pages and extended them to Erik, who took them after a moment's hesitation. "I did spend hours researching the subject, and I suggest you both do the same. Read and meditate upon these passages in the interim."

He waited a moment while Erik began to scan the first few and looked up, papers in hand. "All right," he agreed.

Pieter sat back in his chair. "Children are a heritage from the LORD, designed foremost by God. We are only His stewards in prompting their life, birthing and raising them. He has already determined their form and design and provides us many examples of mercy and healing should any threat come their way. I grieve the fact that you were never exposed to them, Erik, but I must counsel you to you make these the foundation for your lives together, and for any children with which you may be blessed."

Meg dared to look at Erik, who kept his attention on Pieter. To her immense relief she saw some of the tension in him fade, as if he were already considering what Pieter advised.

"Pray for God's direction," Pieter instructed them. "This will be much more difficult for you, Erik, than for Meg." At Erik's snort of laughter he smiled. "It's only natural, for women have an inborn ability in this area. We men must work harder at it; trust Meg, Erik. I have prayed for your children, and I believe you will be astonished at what God will do with a little faith. I already sense the mercy and favor He has already begun to extend to you to restore all you have been denied or lost...do not refuse or ignore such grace, Erik."

Meg watched his lips tighten as he looked down at the pages he gripped with one hand, though he was obviously deeply moved by Pieter's words. The warm presence of a loving Father seemed to overshadow them as they sat there, as if giving silent approval to what was being said. Honored to be part of receiving it, she felt tear well up in her eyes. At her side Erik released a shuddering breath before he answered.

"All right," he answered Pieter, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I will do as you say, to the best of my ability."

"Good," Pieter announced, getting up to look down at them. "You will not regret it, either of you."

There was a knock on the door but before he could answer it Ben shoved it open, waving a paper in one hand. "Sorry to interrupt!" he said excitedly. "But a telegram has come for Erik—we thought he should see it right away."

He rushed to Erik's side and handed it over, standing over him as he unfolded it and scanned its contents. When he looke dup his expression was one of amazement and pleasure.

"It is from the Chief Inspector of Police, a Monsieur Leger from Paris," he breathed, focusing on Pieter. "It worked…"

Meg slowly got up, staring at the offending paper. "What worked?"

He looked up at her apologetically. "My plan…" Slowly rising from his chair, he nodded and handed it to her. "The time has come," he said quietly, watching her read its contents aloud.

"A deposition…location listed below… Monday July the 12th… Strictest confidentiality. Suggest legal representation." She looked up at him, then at Pieter. "But this is in three days' time--and it means returning to Paris!"

"It came to me one night," Erik tried to explain to them. "As clearly as this message was delivered to us today. I merely outlined it in detail and forwarded it to your attorney, who obviously concurred and passed it on to the authorities."

"It was not among the documents I saw," Pieter replied cautiously.

"I inserted it after your review," Erik explained. "You were busy when I brought it here for your review."

"You could have mentioned this sooner, Erik."

Erik shook his head, studying Meg's expression as she handed it to Pieter. "There was no time."

Placing a hand to his head as he read it, Pieter looked up in disbelief. "This is genius," he said quietly. "Risky, no doubt…but pure genius."

Erik put up a hand. "I merely follow the guidance I sense leading me."

Pieter held his gaze a moment, then handed it back. "Returning to Paris, and particularly to an area sought by the rich and powerful in society, is going to be risky. But it is proper to attempt to settle matters within the proper jurisdiction." He glanced at Ben as he extended the telegram to him to read. "They must travel by coach; it is too far to ride,"

Ben took it and quickly scanned the contents, staring at Meg meaningfully. "I agree; I'll drive him myself."

"I'm coming along as advisor, and as a character reference," Pieter added. "We can take the larger coach."

"But I'm coming as well," Meg insisted, holding Erik's gaze in silent plea.

"No you're not!" Ben objected, jamming his hands on his hips.

Pieter shook his head. "It's too dangerous, Meg—"

"Of course it is," Ben added, frowning at Erik as he held her stare.

"Erik, you cannot be serious--"

"She's coming," he decided, surprising them all before he glanced at Pieter. "I must insist, for her own protection."

"She'll be safer here," Ben protested.

"Not necessarily," he argued, watching Pieter expectantly. "If all three of us go she will be well protected."

"From what?" Ben wanted to know, leveling his gaze at Meg.

"We will need to secure lodging and leave the day before," Pieter decided, shifting his attention to Ben. "Could you take care of that for us, Ben?"

He stared at Pieter a moment, realizing his insistence. "Of course," he agreed, not looking entirely convinced.

"What about our attorney?" Pieter asked Erik.

"He will have received his own copy," he stated, focusing on Meg as she came closer to his side and gripped his arm.

Pieter noted the gesture and crossed his arms. "Well, I think the next step would be to get you two married," he concluded. "And the sooner the better."

_c. 2007 by Christine Levitt_


	20. Chapter 20 The Wedding

**_Chapter 20 The Wedding_ **

Feeling as if he were on display, Erik stood alone before the congregation, careful to keep the right side of his face turned away. The sanctuary was dimly lit by hundreds of candles whose acrid smoke wafted toward him in mistlike fingers. An expectant hush belied the scores of people crowding the benches, their collective breath held in anticipation of the bride's appearance. Wondering why he had ever agreed to a public ceremony, he concentrated on the softly strummed classical piece being played by an unseen guitarist in an effort to distract himself from what could only be labeled stage fright. Having seen its effects many times he knew he must divert his attention from the fact that all eyes were fixed upon him, and him alone.

_This guitar piece is somewhat familiar,_ he nearly said aloud. _Either Scarlatti or Rodrigo, or perhaps an earlier composer? _

Clenching his hands at his sides and ignoring the little voice in his head which blamed Meg for putting him thus on display, he struggled to analyze the chord progressions. Then his mind jumped to the question of who was playing the music, and why were they hidden? He was sorely tempted to change places with the musician, yet chastised himself for even thinking such a thing.

_What's the matter with me?_ he worried, thinking his concentration was failing. _Music is my greatest joy and life's work, yet I cannot even identify a composer!_ He threw a furtive glance toward the crowd watching him, wondering if they detected his inner turmoil. Though his only previous appearance on stage had led to his unmasking and many horrendous mistakes, at the moment he had an even stronger urge to flee from sight. It made no sense, he told himself. Even his stomach felt upset as it twisted and dipped nervously within.

_Dear God, what is the matter with me?_

You're getting married, his reason stated blandly. And in public no less…

_To Meg..._

Slowly unclenching his fists, he reassured himself that it had nothing whatsoever to do with her.

_It has everything to do with her!_

It was simply unseasonably warm and the air in the sanctuary was smoky and oppressive. Suddenly feeling a choking feeling grip his throat, he reached up and loosened the stiff collar riding halfway up his neck. His black dress suit had been impeccably tailored, recently pressed for him by the parish laundry, yet even the lighter weight fabric felt entirely too warm for the summer night. He resisted the urge to reach down and massage his thigh, for his leg burned from having spent the morning swimming and executing his physical therapy in the hope he could climb the stairs onto the dias without limping. Eyeing them with growing concern, he realized he had not thought of the descent.

Suddenly the people stirred and he shot his gaze toward the entry as Pieter appeared and came toward him. Rejoicing inwardly but offering him a curt nod, Erik met his encouraging smile and glanced away. The minister wore a long white gown over his suit, one arm raised to support a small white book which must contain the order of service. As Pieter halted facing the congregation, he half bowed to them before leaning toward him in greeting.

"She's coming down the corridor," he whispered, immediately straightening and lifting his gaze to the main entrance opposite him.

Releasing a deep, pent up breath Erik shifted only enough to follow Pieter's gaze, astonished when everyone stood and followed his lead. His throat choked up but he pasted a smile upon his half averted face as he awaited his bride.

_You're a fake._

The voice spoke so clearly that he shot his gaze to his left, scanning the room. Of course he saw no one, and glancing back toward the entrance he attempted to shake off the unsettled feeling clinging to his heart. At the periphery of his line of sight the guests in the first several rows nodded and whispered to each other, eager for Meg to show herself.

_They have no idea, do they?_ the voice taunted him. _They think you're one of them...they even think that this is a real wedding and the beginning of a real marriage…_

Erik clamped his teeth and told himself to ignore the doubt and fear swirling through his mind. Things were different now--_he_ was different. Meg wanted to marry him, he told himself, despite the terms he had insisted upon. Her eyes shone with her feelings, he remembered with a surge of pleasure. She wanted his heart, but settled for a place in his mind. At least temporarily.

_You're worse than a fake--you're an impostor!_

Stopping himself before shaking his head in reply, Erik clenched his hands together before him and glanced down at the carpeted stairs leading down to the main floor. Wondering what was taking Meg so long, he consoled himself with the memory of all that had grown between them since coming to this place. She was his friend, and she was good for him. He would do his best to protect and cherish her whether they were to marry for three days or a lifetime. As he covertly studied the rows of people surrounding them he told himself to be grateful for each one. Nowhere else on earth had he been treated the way these people had treated him, tending his wounds and praying for him, offering him a place to rest and heal. Overcoming the shocking appearance of his face. Surely the credit was due Meg, he realized. It was she they all loved, counting any friend of hers one of their own. And now, with her delay their eyes turned slowly back to him as if trusting her choice of a husband. He felt overwhelmed with love and acceptance and lifted his chin, nodding to them in acknowledgement.

Pieter nudged his side with an elbow and he turned to note the pleased smile on his face. Amazed that such a man would take him in and befriend him, Erik smiled genuinely and eased his hands back to his sides. Never having imagined the possibility of gaining a friend, he still held a certain amount of awe at Pieter's friendship, and at Ben's, who already accepted him as brother-in-law. In fact there was no one he could identify as hostile or foe, not in this community.

Transferring his weight to his stiff leg and back, he wondered how much longer they must wait. His foot was beginning to feel numb from the tight bandage he wore beneath his pants. The heavy muscles above it cramped, demanding he shift his weight from time to time. Praying again for the ability and grace to get through the ceremony and reception with as little attention upon himself as possible, he directed his gaze once again to the huge double doors that stood open in anticipation. He heard the sudden intake of breath as his eyes caught a flash of white, and then she appeared. Catching his breath at the sight of her, he stared awestruck at her beauty as she came to the center of the threshhold and hooked her arm through Ben's. And then they were walking slowly up the aisle, Ben screwing up his face with what Erik suspected as an attempt to relieve the weight of tension on them all. Shifting his eyes back to Meg, he watched her eyes twinkle with delight and she laughed silently, tugging his arm as if to tell him to behave. As they passed row after row their expressions relaxed, and for the first time her eyes met his and held. She was only a few rows away, and she was gliding toward him. Frustrated by the thin, filmy veil covering her from the tiny wreath of flowers atop her hair to midway down her arms, he held her dark eyes as she slowly climbed the stairs and came to stand opposite him. His throat went dry as she pulled her arm from Ben's and he moved to Pieter's other side. Erik stared in silence at her, feeling suddenly as if they were the only two people in the world.

_How could she look any more beautiful than before?_ he wondered with a sense of the surreal. She held his stare, the warmth and pleasure in her eyes causing all thought to desert him. All he could do was study her in silence, his eyes drinking in every detail of her appearance.

From the wildflower atop her veil, her hair cascaded down in wavy tendrils, framing her face and shoulders. Beneath her veil her eyes looked huge and warm as she held his gaze. Her cheeks showed the hint of a blush, and her smile caught his attention to the rosy mauve tint of her lips. The candlelight sparkled off the tiny pearls dotting her ears and circling her neck in a single strand. Her gown was slender and fit her curves perfectly, from the low scoop of her neckline to the lacy hem that touched the tops of her white shoes. The dress was stunning, its ivory hue gilded with strands of pale golden embroidery bordering both sides of the front in what looked like an ivy design. When she stepped closer to him he could smell the clean, flowery fragrance she wore. Without thinking he reached for her hand and gripped it like a lifeline. Her fingers felt cold as he squeezed them, half expecting to awaken suddenly only to find himself alone again, down in the subterranean tunnels of the opera house. But her face lit with a glorious smile which melted his heart, releasing a flood of emotions that overtook him. His eyes moistened and it took several attempts to swallow past the lump in his throat. He was aware of Pieter's voice gently commanding the ceremony as he took their clasped hands between his. .

"Beloved friends and family," he was saying, his voice filling the sanctuary. "We have gathered tonight to witness the holy covenant of marriage between two of our dear friends, Meg and Erik..."

At the sound of his name Erik was assaulted by doubt. A jolt of fear knifed through him, dampening his palms just as Pieter guided their hands back to their sides. He watched Meg's graceful fingers tighten around her small bouquet of flowers as a dark shadow swept over him and pulled him beneath its wave of menace. Losing track of Pieter's words, he was shaken by its strength. It was familiar, reminding him of the dark dreams of his delirium. _What had caused it to enter this place? _he wondered, daring a glance toward Pieter's calm expression. Shifting his eyes to Meg he noted her dreamy expression and the gentle smile perched upon her lips as she kept her attention upon Pieter. To Erik's amazement he realized that she looked happy, and so did Pieter. Very slowly, he exhaled without them taking notice and tried to slow his racing heart. Telling himself it was his own mind playing tricks on him, he concentrated on what Pieter was saying despite feeling shaken to the depths of his soul.

"Who gives this woman to be married?" Pieter interrupted him. Distractedly, Erik watched Ben take a step forward.

"I do," he answered, "her adopted brother." He placed a hand at the base of her neck and kissed her cheek.

"Ben, do you release Meg from one family unto another, from sister to wife, and conversely take into your family her chosen husband?" Pieter wanted to confirm.

Ben nodded. "I do so release her, and accept Erik as my brother."

"She is so released," Pieter stated. To Erik's surprise Ben put an arm around his back and shrugged into a quick embrace before stepping back.

Pieter took Meg's hand and directed it toward Erik's. "May she grow from sister to wife, and God willing to mother, in God given devotion and love."

_Your friendship is no substitute for that kind of love!_ the voice mocked. _You aren't capable of being a man, much less a husband…_

It was meant to taunt him, Erik realized, to steal his hope and make him doubt their finest attempt to build a life together through friendship. Fighting his fears, he forced himself to remembered the day Meg had taken him to her pond, to that special place she loved to sit beneath the softly trailing willows. Closing his eyes, he remembered the night she smuggled him into her room. He could almost feel the touch of her fingers upon his ruined face, and taste the first kiss she had offered him. Their conversation that night echoed in the recesses of his mind...

_"Then might I have a claim, to either your heart or your mind?"_ she had asked him. Surprised, he had found himself nodding in agreement:

_"I think you know that you already do."  
_

A hint of a smile had teased her lips. _"But upon which?"_ she had whispered to him.

He had dragged his gaze from her lips and answered truthfully: _"I'm--not sure...but you have laid claim."  
_

When Meg suddenly turned to face him he was snapped back to the present. He studied the way she kept her gaze averted this time, her attention somewhere around the vicinity of his chin. What had he missed as he fought his doubts and fears? Why wasn't she looking at him?

He glanced at Pieter, trying to catch up to what he had missed. "If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames but have not love," Pieter was saying, "I gain nothing...Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth…"

Erik saw a vision of himself standing with Christine upon the stage as they sang his opera. The flames incorporated into the set design were telling, he realized, embodying all his anger, jealousy and lust. It had been composed with the intent of trapping her and forcing her to be with him. By contrast he now recognized the trap his own passion had set for him, and he vowed never to so enslave a woman again. All his days of study and prayer, along with the company he had kept here had offered him so much more and taught him to recognize true love. If only he had found it sooner he might have been able to avoid making so many colossal mistakes.

_God forgive me..._

"It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres," Pieter continued, his voice reverent. "Love never fails. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known..."

He felt Meg's hand turn within his, her fingers lacing between his. Lifting his head he looked into her eyes, seeing her acceptance and hope. Deeply humbled, he bowed his head in acknowledgement.

_Change my heart to conform with your will,_ he prayed, _and help me to give her the kind of love which You desire._

"Erik, please unveil your beloved," Pieter said in a gentler tone. Glancing to him for confirmation, he noted Pieter's nod and turned to grasp the edges of the fabric between his fingers. Very slowly he lifted it, drawing close to her. Yet he kept his eyes upon her upturned face, even after he folded it back over her hair and began to move away. As he lowered his arms she clasped his wrist and held onto him, as if for support. With a half step backward he slid his arm back until he could take her hand in his and stood looking into her eyes, which was his own support.

"And now these three remain," Pieter finished. "Faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." Slowly closing his book, Pieter waiting for their attention before shifting his gaze to the congregation. "Now we will witness the vows which Meg and Erik have written for each other, in their own words." Then he nodded to Meg..

She swallowed and smiled a bit nervously as her eyes caught and held his. "Erik…" she began, deciding her voice was not loud enough to be heard. "I pledge myself to you in a commitment of strong friendship," she stated. "I honor and respect you as a man, and as a friend. I love you, but I also pray to love you as our Creator intends, as outlined in His Word. Erik, I aspire to be found a fit and worthy friend and wife, in both your sight and His."

He watched her moisten her lips as her eyes flooded with tears, yet she stood smiling up at him. Overwhelmed with emotion and hardly believing the place where he stood, Erik was speechless. Unfortunately, as he hesitated in an effort to remember even a bit of what he had intended to say, he saw her smile falter and heard Pieter's whispered prompt. Grasping her hand, he lifted it and cradled it between his own. Then he cleared his throat and plunged forward.

"Marguerite," he breathed, marveling at the beauty of even her name, "I pledge myself to you this day," he began, quickly correcting himself. "—night."

Whispers and soft murmurs scattered around the sanctuary but he concentrated on her upturned face. "I commit myself to your care, even as with my spirit, soul and body I vow to be your protector, friend and husband… I forsake all others, cleaving only to you. I make it my chief desire and goal to be found worthy of your trust. May God grant us His good mercy, protection and favor."

There was a hushed silence for a few moment before Ben put a hand on his shoulder and Erik turned to nod in acknowledgement. In his hand Ben placed the small velvet bag he had kept for him, moving back to his place at Pieter's side. Facing Meg once again, Erik pulled the tiny drawstring to open it and extracted the ring he had chosen for her. Glancing at Pieter for approval, he missed the look of astonishment on her face until they continued.

"Repeat after me," Pieter stated; "with this ring I thee wed…"

Erik took her hand, smiling at her wide eyes as she stared at the ring. Its diamonds and single sapphire sparkled even in the dim candlelight, but her eyes shot up to his and she smiled. He promised her his devotion and faithfulness as he slid it onto her finger and held her hand in his. _It's beautiful! _she mouthed to him, but he only nodded soberly.

"We are all witness to the vows made herein before God and man," Pieter said, focusing on them once again. "Erik and Meg, I now pronounce you husband and wife… and Erik, you may kiss your bride now."

He held her gaze, vaguely aware of the soft music that started up again, as well as the murmuring whispers filling the sanctuary. Squeezing her hand, he watched her eyes shift to his lips as she waited in expectation. Bending his head to hers, he lifted a hand to her waist to pull her closer. She placed her free hand over his heart as he touched his lips to hers, pressing against their warm softness as his heart pounded heavily. Though too aware of the scrutiny of the congregation, he closed his eyes and molded his lips against hers until she sighed softly, as if satisfied. Then he straightened and moved away, keeping her hand in his as they turned back to Pieter.

"Please stand for the benediction," he announced, "wait for the bride and groom to make their way to the doors, then greet them on your way out to gather in the dining hall for the reception."

Dismissing them with the blessing of Aaron and gesturing for the people to make their way out of the sanctuary, Pieter turned to pull them into a tight embrace, turning then to embrace Ben as the place filled with the voices of the people. Erik felt Meg grip his arm and gazed down at her questioning eyes.

"Erik--the ring is so beautiful!" she breathed, clutching his lapel. He swept his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest, closing his eyes as he held her. She gripped his back and buried her face in the ruffle of his shirt while Ben slapped his back and shouted hallelujah. Laughter erupted throughout the crowd as they eased away from each other and started after Pieter, who descended the stairs and headed toward the doors. Meg gripped his arm and turned to smile at Ben, taking his arm as they slowly started down the stairs. With Erik's stiff leg and Meg's high heeled boots they made slow but careful progress.

"I'm glad that's over!" Ben declared, pulling meaningfully at the knot in his cravat. His voice was nearly drowned by the roar of the crowd surrounding them.

Erik shook some of the hands thrusting toward him in congratulations as Meg and Ben did the same on their way toward the exit doors. Once they were there Ben picked her up and swung her in a small circle as she laughed and pushed at his shoulders.

"Ben, put me down!" she cried, catching Erik's eye and smiling broadly at him.

"All right, but there will be more to come!" Ben warned, releasing her and veering off toward the side where Pieter waited.

Erik caught her hand, transferring it to the small of her back as he leaned close. "You look so beautiful," he said quietly, his eyes moving slowly over her face. "Thank you for marrying me."

Her face lit with mischief as she tugged at his cravat. "I wasn't sure you would brave the crowd, but I'm thankful you did."

"You are worth the effort," he said sincerely.

Her expression warmed. "So are you--you look wonderful, Erik."

Pieter called his name, pointing toward the opposite door, so Erik guided Meg to their side and leaned back against the carved wood, keeping her hand in his as they greeted, nodded, thanked everyone who came to them, too distracted to focus upon what had just been accomplished.

c. 2007 by Christine Levitt


	21. Chapter 21 The Reception

_**Chapter 21 – The Reception **_

_**NOTE: **__In the last chapter two composers were mentioned, one in error: Rodrigo was born after the time period of this story, so please excuse the error!_

"Take that, you thief!" Mme. Giry shouted, swinging her cane and striking the man's upper back. "That will teach you to break in and scare me half to death—"

"Wait—!" he protested, raising an arm to ward off another blow. "You don't understand—"

"I know a thief when I see one!" she yelled, casting a disdainful look at his black clothing and face makeup. He was big and threatening looking, a dark shadow with a gravely voice. But she had succeeded in interrupting him, scattering his cohorts. "Your friends left you behind, didn't they?" she taunted.

He spread his hands wide, taking a step toward her. "I didn't steal anything—"

"I didn't give you the chance!" she answered, swinging her cane but missing him. "Now get out before I call the authorities!"

Darting away from her reach again, he pointed to himself. "I am 'the authorities'! That is what I have been trying to tell you!"

"Of course you are!" she sneered, swinging again but surprised when his hand shot up and caught the end of her cane. She stared at it in disbelief.

"I am Detective Aubin of the Corps de Police," he panted, yanking it from her grasp. "I am not your burglar!"

"Anyone can say that!" she defended, backing away from him as he approached, her cane in hand. Quickly scanning the room for another weapon, she was distracted by the movement of his other hand.

"My credentials, Madame," he announced, reaching inside his black waistcoat and withdrawing a badge. "Perhaps you would like to put on the lights."

She stared in horror at the small shield in his hand, clearly identifiable even in the dark gallery. "If you are the police," she challenged, "what are you doing sneaking around here in the dead of night?"

"Before you interrupted, I was trying to catch the real thieves!"

"Really?" she said boldly. "You failed the last time—what makes you think you can succeed this time?"

"We didn't fail—the Buquet brothers are under our surveillance—"

"Buquet!" she spat, placing her hands on her hips. "So it was them—I thought as much, and now we have proof!"

He tilted his head to study her. "My next question was going to be whether the name was familiar to you—"

"To my great regret it is—so you are letting them steal?" she criticized. "I should report such incompetence to your superiors!" 

He came a few steps closer and paused. "They know all about it." 

Backing up until her shoulders met the unyielding granite pillar behind her, she realized that he had her trapped. Thankfully the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted them and three dark forms rushed into the gallery. She looked up at him with a doubtful expression. "Do they now?"

"All clear!" a voice whispered. "They left by the back alley—"

"Cote is waiting for them back at the farm," another one breathed. "He sent word to say it appears they are getting ready to move the horses."

The one named Aubin nodded. "When they do follow them, even if they go beyond our jurisdiction—and when we find out what they just stole report back to me."

"The opera horses? Buquet has them?" she wanted confirmed.

Aubin raised a warning finger toward her. "This is not your concern, Madame—neither is the manner in which we do our work."

"That remains to be seen—" she protested. "I could always report you to the judge, or better yet the press!"

"I could arrest you for interfering with police business," he shot back, extending her cane to her. "And for assaulting an officer."

Ignoring the white smile he flashed at her, she snatched back her cane without a trace of guilt. "I thought you were a thief and was merely defending myself and this gallery."

He studied a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough."

She didn't like the way he continued to study her so closely, but thought it best to remain silent. His men stood by, awaiting his next order. It was clear that he was in charge, she admitted. _I have underestimated him,_ she thought glumly.

"I have introduced myself," he stated, "but you have not returned the courtesy."

"Louise Giry—" she stated formally. "I am Director of Production of the Opera Populaire."

He continued to regard her with a look of distrust, as if she were the criminal. She didn't like the way he towered over her, especially with the audience of his men. "Detective."

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mme. Giry," he finally said. "I have read your statements and the notes which Inspector Leger has left in my care."

"Good, then I will not need to prove to you my reasons for defending our property."

"This is not the opera house," he reminded her.

She lifted her chin. "It is temporarily—now by your leave I wish to return to my rooms. It is very late and I have a long day ahead of me."

"Gentlemen," he said to his men without turning. "We will be escorting Mme. Giry back to her apartment to assist her in moving her belongings."

She stared up at him in outrage. "What do you mean, 'moving' my belongings? I am not going anywhere—"

"May I remind you that there was just another robbery here," he said blandly. "It may have been executed in another wing of the building far from yours but it has become too dangerous for you to remain here," he lectured.

"They aren't after me or my things!" she protested.

"Think quickly of a friend with whom you might stay, but in the meantime," he stood aside, bowing and sweeping one arm toward the exit. "Your apartment?"

"This is an outrage! I have work to do here—"

He took her arm and escorted her toward the doors. "This is a city building and therefore under my authority. You will remove yourself from the premises and not return until they are deemed safe for occupation," he stated as they turned into the corridor and headed in the right direction.

"But my classes, and our rehearsals—"

"All will continue with the proper security measures, but you cannot live here any longer—the attorney left in charge by Mons. Firmin and Andre will help you manage the Opera."

"His only concern is the money!" she objected, shaking free of his hand. "I have an opera to run and it involves working long into the night—"

As they entered the wing where her rooms were located she stopped abruptly, pointing toward the rehearsal room to their left. "In there we hold practice sessions for the summer season, which as you probably do not know are nearly upon us. These are widely attended and require my supervision, not to mention the four different levels of classes I teach!"

"You need to pack and be quick about it," he insisted, taking her arm again and leading her onward. "Then maybe we can all get some sleep."

With a groan of protest she jerked her arm free and paraded toward her rooms, ignoring the snickers of laughter following close behind them. "I will be fired for abandoning my responsibilities here—"

"I will personally see to it that no such thing occurs," he assured her, crossing his arms and watching her pull out her key. "And if necessary the opera will take a little vacation until we can be assured of no more robberies."

"Vacation?" she croaked, shoving open her door. Shaking her head, she stalked over to her desk and began snatching up the papers she would need. "You obviously know nothing about opera business—we are already on the edge of bankruptcy, and now this!"

In the light of her parlor she could see him eyeing the papers she clutched to her chest. "And you Madame know nothing about police business."

Shoving everything into her bag, she pulled it close and started toward her bedroom. "I need a few moments to pack personal items," she announced over one shoulder.

"Sir, it is the middle of the night," she heard one of his men object, his voice low. "How will she find a place to stay?"

"My office should prove comfortable enough."

"We have her statements, sir," the officer reminded him as she lingered just inside her room to listen.

"That was before," Aubin answered, further lowering his own voice. "She is hiding something and I intend to find out what it is." 

Moving out of Arlene's embrace, Meg stood aside to watch her throw her arms around Erik's stiffly set shoulders to hug him. Looking obviously uncomfortable, his eyes shot to hers as if pleading for rescue, but she smiled impishly as if to let him know the gesture was good for him. After a moment he bent over Arlene and patted her upper back in capitulation. Arlene, as if waiting for him to do just that, pulled away only enough to smile up at him. She squeezed his upper arms encouragingly.

"Come for dinner tomorrow night," she urged him, glancing over her shoulder at Meg. "Both of you—and I must insist."

Meg threw up her hands as if to show him there was no use refusing.

He nodded politely to Arlene. "We would be honored," he said quietly, slowly pulling out of her grip. "And thank you for all that you and Pieter have done for us."

Arlene turned to face Meg, keeping a hand on his arm. "You make a lovely couple," she declared, releasing him to wave farewell as she headed toward the dining hall.

Trying not to laugh, Meg came closer to his side as he hooked a finger into his collar and pulled at it to loosen it. Four more guests gathered around them to express their congratulations, and another dozen or so more completed the line flowing out of the sanctuary. Forcing a smile, she nodded and thanked each person as she longed to take off her shoes and get something to drink. They had been standing in line nearly an hour without a moment to themselves, and she gazed up at him longingly. His eyes met hers and he almost smiled. It was an intimate gesture that shot little tickles of pleasure through her stomach, and confirmed what she was sure he would never admit to her. 

_I want you…_

Someone uttered her name and she forced her attention back to the couple standing between them. Again the woman told her the name of someone she was sure was a mutual acquaintance, but she only nodded distractedly, her thoughts on her husband. She shook hands with the woman's husband as they moved on, her eyes returning to Erik. Then she was struck by a moment of doubt.

Was he acting as she had asked him to, insisting that when in public they appear as a loving couple?

She could hear the deep resonance of his voice as he answered the next guest who greeted him. Swallowing nervously, she studied him more carefully in an attempt to discern real from act. Was this anyway to begin a marriage, pretending? And what if she started to believe the acting, only to find herself disappointed when reality intervened.

He glanced back to her with an expression of concern, but was forced to return his attention to the next guest. She suddenly doubted the wisdom of placing such a demand upon him. Challenging Erik was not a good idea, she decided, and it could very well backfire on both of them.

Thanking the guests who had finished speaking with him, she nodded and threw him another furtive glance. Before him stood a man she had never seen before. He looked foreign, his features shadowed and his stance nearly as uncomfortable as Erik's. Her new husband, on the other hand, nodded and appeared to finally relax as they spoke. His eyes shifted to the tiny woman at the man's side, then to the little group of children huddling close to the woman. Fascinated, Meg watched the man touch each child's head as he introduced them to Erik. She could tell by his expression that Erik was committing heir names to memory, suddenly realizing that these were his guests, the ones he had invited himself. As he glanced back to her they moved to introduce themselves in a similar manner and then passed down the stairs to make their way to the reception. Wanting to ask Erik about them, she lost the opportunity when he turned to greet Timmy and his family.

To his obvious surprise Gracie pushed herself forward and stood jumping up and down before Erik. She watched his brows lift and understanding light his expression, then he bent to scoop her up into his arms. Gracie smiled with delight, gripping his shoulders and thanking him by planting a big kiss on his ruined cheek.

"Congrat-a-la-tions!" she proclaimed, placing a hand over her mouth as her father gently corrected her. Meg took her hand and kissed it as Gracie leaned toward Erik's ear.

"It was a nice wedding but I'm really hungry," she hinted not too softly. Erik was about to say something when she clutched his neck. "Oh and I think you'll make a great daddy!"

Cringing inwardly at her mention of children, Meg noted the hint of a shadow which flitted across his expression, but he smiled and nodded to Timmy. "And you make a great daughter," he answered fondly.

Gracie pushed at his shoulders until he bent to set her down as her family stood speechless, her mother looking greatly embarrassed. "We're already praying for you and Meg to have five!" she added, clasping her hands together with a smile as he turned his head to look at Meg. "Three boys and two girls!"

He seemed almost amused but he threw Gracie a doubtful look. "You have been that specific?" 

"Yes," she replied, "though Mummy says it's none of our business how many or what kind."

Erik shifted his attention to Timmy's beaming smile, then to Gracie's mother who shifted the baby to her other shoulder with an embarrassed smile.

"You must forgive her, Mon. Erik," she said gently, laying a hand on her daughter's head. "Gracie is sometimes too blunt for her own good…it was nice to finally meet you after hearing so much about you."

"The pleasure is mine," he said with a tiny bow as they moved along. His gaze, Meg noted, lingered on the sleeping baby.

Timmy, clearly proud of his family and happy for the, wiped at his eyes and hugged Erik before moving on. Erik seemed a bit surprised as he stared after them, for Timmy's wife and daughters shared none of his blunted features and round, childlike face. She prayed that someday Erik might consider risking children should he perhaps reconsider the terms he had placed upon their marriage. Again her vision of the little boy with his father's eyes flashed in her memory and she looked up, finding herself caught in his heated expression, as if he could read her thoughts. Everything seemed to come to a halt as she met his gaze, suddenly not caring if he guessed the direction of her thoughts with his scrutiny.

_Those eyes…_

Could she be imagining what she read in his expression, as if he were viewing her in light of that possibility? Before she could interpret his expression it changed again before he turned to greet the next person in line. It was an elderly gentleman who nodded with embarrassment, blowing his nose in a white handkerchief. Erik seemed taken aback but gripped his hand in a forceful shake.

"Don't worry," the man gasped, shaking his head and actually smiling. "I always cry at weddings." He released Erik's hand and patted his arm before he passed Meg with a nod.

Their eyes met and the mixture of disbelief and horror in Erik's face was so intense she couldn't help laughing under cover of her hand. Taking his arm, she nodded toward the empty foyer.

"That seems to be the end of our shift," she said, leaning on him to lift one foot and adjust her shoe. "My feet are numb from standing so long in one place!"

Placing a hand over hers, he leaned close. "I believe my arm might have fallen off with one more handshake."

"My face hurts from smiling so much," she whispered, letting him escort her to the stairs and down the path toward the dining hall. There the doors stood open to admit the last few inside.

He chuckled. "I've had enough hugs to last several lifetimes," he said quietly, gazing overhead at the brilliant starlight.

She looked up. "Well I hope you might allow _me_ a few," she teased, "though I don't wish to overburden you."

His eyes lit with interest. "I believe that could be arranged…"

As they entered the hall everyone stood and applauded, embarrassing them both. Meg felt his hand tighten at her waist as she gripped his arm. His tight expression belied the half bow and smile he offered in return before escorting her toward their seats. When he pulled out her chair she offered him a smile of thanksgiving, sliding onto it with a breathy sigh. The shoes were new, high buttoned white leather and stylish, but torture to wear. As the crowd resumed attending to their food she saw two of the men go to the windows to throw them open, admitting a bit of cool air into the stifling room.

Erik sat down next to her with great care, and as he leaned back she glanced at his stiff white cravat and black dress jacket, thinking of suggesting he remove them. As he eased his leg beneath the table she realized he was more uncomfortable from his leg than the heat. Her eyes traveled up his neck to his jaw, over the dark shadow of his shaven cheek to the sheen of perspiration riding his upper lip. In that moment he caught her stare, a look of mild surprise flitting across his face before he promptly glanced away.

At her side a chair was pulled out and Ben slid onto it, leaning an elbow next to her plate. He reached up and patted her head in greeting.

"How does it feel to be an old married woman?" he teased, bending away to peel off his jacket without ceremony. He sighed in pleasure and she noted that his tie had long since disappeared. Her laugh captured his attention and she saw him glance toward Erik meaningfully. Following his gaze toward her husband's formal attire, she was struck by how different they were, these two men in her life. And how much she loved them both.

He was speaking with Dr. Arnand, who seated himself at his side. She smiled at the older man without breaking their concentration, secretly happy to be given the opportunity to watch as eventually Erik reached up to loosen his cravat, slowly pulling it from his neck. The doctor answered whatever questions Erik asked while she watched his fingers moved to open first his jacket, then his waistcoat.

Feeling flustered, Meg nodded to Ben's commentary on the service, unable to look away from those graceful but masculine hands which belonged to her husband. At Ben's other side a women sat down and distracted him, forcing her to look up and greet the woman. As they settled into comfortable conversation she found the opportunity to direct her attention back, studying Erik's profile as his muscles bunched within his jacket as he leaned to absently remove it. Lost in discussion of the intricacies of skin disorders, she helped him drape the jacket over his chair. At one point he turned to nod his thanks to her, but the doctor called his attention back. .

Lifting her water glass for a cool drink, her eyes followed his hand as it descended along the edge of his waistcoat, unfastening it and pushing it aside. He planted a hand on his hip as he answered something she could not overhear, giving her the freedom to study the perfect fit of his dress shirt over his lower ribs. Plunging down to the place where it dipped into his black embroidered cummerbund, she jerked her gaze away and reached for a carrot stick.

"Mother sends her regards, doesn't she?" Ben prompted, making her turn and smile at him and the woman. She nodded and swallowed the bite of carrot.

"Yes, unfortunately she could not attend due to her circumstances at home," she said politely. "I think we miss her more than she is able to miss us, but perhaps we might celebrate at another time."

"She is probably planning that as we speak," Ben agreed, discreetly turning the conversation away from the glaring absence of her mother. She and Ben had discussed this briefly, anticipating questions that would surely arise about Mme. Giry's inability to attend her only daughter's wedding. But then again, most people knew that her mother did not really care to spend time here, while Meg considered it her second home.

As she considered the awkward position this all presented she felt a tickle near her ear. Shrugging in response she felt a warm kiss press her cheek and turned abruptly. Bumping her nose against Erik's lips she gasped softly, her eyes shooting up to his. Tiny sparks of amusement lit his eyes before they darkened to forest green. Entranced by the change in hue she studied his eyes, slowly becoming aware of Dr. Arnand's interested gaze, as well as Ben's uncharacteristic silence.

Blushing hotly she jabbed a piece of raw carrot into her mouth, feeling the weight of Erik's gaze as he settled back in his chair. As she licked her lips she could feel it there, finally braving herself enough to turn and meet it.

His eyes were right where she thought they were, settled on her lips. He glanced up and shifted closer, draping his arm over the back of her chair. As he moved closer she noted the pleasant woodsy scent of his skin that teased her senses. Ben took the opportunity to lean across her to compliment Erik on his endurance, causing her to turn to await his response. He shook his head and laughed, replying to whatever Ben had said. In that moment she realized that she had not paid attention, so distracting was Erik's closeness. Ben leaned back and she glanced up at Erik, bravely holding his heated gaze. To her surprise the corners of his mouth lifted suggestively.

"Feeling warm, Meg?" he asked softly, his eyes alight with teasing. 

She forced a smile before diverting her attention down the row of tables before them. It seemed that everyone was enjoying the first course of their meal, as well as each other's company. No one seemed tense or flustered, including Erik. Now that he was no longer the center of attention he seemed much more relaxed, and doing an admirable job of playing the adoring husband. 

_It's just an act…_

"Meg—what do you think?'" Ben repeated, capturing her attention. He waited a moment before prompting her. "Is my idea a good one, or not?"

She looked at him in confusion. "What idea?"

They could hear music coming from the opposite end of the hall and a group of musicians entered from the kitchens. She looked at Ben in surprise.

He shrugged. "You have to have dancing at a wedding," he explained.

She leaned closer. "What were you thinking?" she whispered, concerned for Erik's feelings. "What about Erik's poor leg?" 

"May I have this dance?"

His hand was held out in invitation, and she ran her eyes up his arm to the calm expression on his face, well aware of being watched. The guitarist and violinist were playing a lively tune as she remembered her sore feet. But as she noted the pleading in Erik's eyes she nodded, placing her hand in his. Warm, strong fingers caressed and enfolded hers as she slowly got up.

He preceded her toward the area just to the side of the head table as the musicians gathered there, still playing. To them he offered a slight bow and she dipped into a curtsy, gripping his hand. His arm wound round her back as she placed her other hand upon his shoulder.

"My muscles could use some stretching," he explained quietly, turning her into a quarter circle.

"What about my poor feet?" she whispered, forcing a smile to cover the grimace of pain her shoes caused. Surely she would have a blister on one of her feet before the night ended. Others came up and joined the dancing, but she watched his brows shoot up.

"I will rub them for you, of course," he answered softly, one corner of his mouth turned up.

She held his warming gaze. "Only if you let me massage your sore muscles," she challenged, startled when all amusement fled his expression and he twirled her suddenly. His hand tightened over hers as he tightened his jaw.

"It already feels better."

Digging her fingers into his back, she managed to balance herself. He moved with surprising grace, and after a few minutes she realized the dancing seemed to help him. She did not ask him where he had learned to dance, but concentrated on his every movement and expression, learning to read him and anticipate what he would do next. The ring on her finger caught the light, sparkling with colors of the rainbow. She smoothed that hand down his shoulder to his chest and met his gaze.

"Thank you for your ring, Erik," she said softly. "It is beautiful." 

He glanced down at her. "You are very welcome."

"How did you know my size?" she made conversation. "And when did you have the opportunity—"

"Ben remembered your size," he answered curtly. Then, looking into her eyes his expression softened. "He said something about going with your mother to buy your 16th birthday ring."

She stared at him a moment. "I had forgotten about that..."

He searched her eyes thoughtfully. "What happened to it?"

"I lost it," she said, her eyes flooding with moisture. "The night you found me…"

At his prolonged silence she met his gaze, witnessing the tender expression in his eyes as he eased her closer. Feeling emotionally drained, she forced a smile and dismissed the past.

"Did you go into the village to buy it?"

He shook his head. "Arlene convinced a local jeweler to bring up a small collection in your size." She felt his fingers gently touch the band as his eyes held hers. "When I saw this one, I knew it was made for you."

Deeply touched, she nodded. "We could get matching rings—when we have the time."

He put his hand back to her waist. "Most men don't wear a ring," he said, glancing away as they maneuvered past another couple. "Surely you know that."

The music was slowing to a close but she moved closer to him, smoothing her fingertips over his shirt. His eyes shot to hers. "But you are not 'most men,'" she told him softly. 

To her surprise his gaze hardened and he looked away. "It is not necessary."

Feeling unsettled, she wondered if having a ring of his own would further bind him to a permanent relationship. Did he truly plan to annul their marriage, once their circumstances improved? Her spirits fell with the thought and she felt his hand loosen its grip. As he began to lead her back to their seats she shoved away her gloomy thoughts and stared up at his profile, suddenly determined to buy him a ring at her earliest opportunity.

_Whatever it takes,_ she vowed, _let it be hard for him to walk away from this marriage…as hard as it can be.  
_  
By the time they seated themselves again the main course was waiting for them, and they ate without much conversation beyond the polite exchange of comment. Dancing had made her even more warm and uncomfortable, and she pulled up her drooping neckline as she glanced at the damp spots on his shirt which appeared beneath his armpits. He had shifted his chair back to its original position, foregoing their former closeness. Eyeing the exit doors she longed to leave the hot room, knowing she could not do so without attracting unwanted attention. But how long must they stay? And how would they be sent off? With a toast? Some jokes from Ben? Covertly studying him as he resumed his conversation with Dr. Arnand, she sighed tiredly, doubting he would pick her up and carry her over any threshold.

The doctor said something and laughed quietly before she heard the deep rumble of Erik's laugh, a rare sound indeed. Listening to it, she felt the hair at the back of her neck rise as the sound vibrated along her skin, exciting and somewhat threatening. Glancing down at the large hand that rested over the arm of his chair, she shifted her attention to her own which lay close by. Next to him she felt small and feminine, secretly pleased at the difference in their statures. Yet trying to imagine the prospect of what would normally transpire between them later this night, she felt something close to panic even though she knew it would never happen. Still…

Daring to consider it, she let her gaze wander down from his hand to the muscular thigh bent so close to the edge of her gown, trying to imagine herself massaging it as she had offered to do.

_Don't play those games with him, _a voice cautioned her. _Remember, it is a marriage of convenience, nothing more. _

But what would they do, she wondered? Immediately following that thought was a vision of Erik stalking off into the night, leaving her alone. Even worse, what if he decided to forego the offer of the cabin and escort her to her room in the women's dormitory, only to seek his own room? Everyone would know, and she would feel even more guilty, as if she trapped him into marriage. Yet surely he would not be that inconsiderate of her feelings. They had an agreement to behave as any normal couple might, did they not? 

They finished only half of what was on their plates, were served wedding cake without ceremony, and then Dr. Arnand was standing and dismissing himself with his repeated congratulations. Ben took the opportunity to rise and come between them, kissing the top of her head fondly. He leaned to whisper something to Erik and planted a hand on his shoulder.

"Take good care of her," he ordered, smiling as Erik nodded and shook his hand.

"I will," he replied, his gaze drifting to Meg's.

She nodded to Dr. Arnand and kissed Ben's cheek and they were alone at the head of the table. To their surprise those two departures seemed to trigger a series of dismissals, beginning with the families that had children. Meg realized it must be way past their bedtimes, and dared at glance at Erik. He was looking at her with a mixture of regret and concern.

"I am sorry if I have offended you," he said quietly, waiting for her response. His eyes moved to her ring and remained there.

She leaned closer. "I over reacted, and I apologize."

His eyes lifted to hers as he reached for her hand, holding it loosely in his. There was something stirring and comforting in the gesture, and she squeezed his hand as he quickly scanned the room. 

"I believe they are waiting for us to leave," he whispered without looking at her.

She looked up and saw that it was true. People seemed to be lingering over the dessert, their attention toward them. To her surprise Erik lifted her hand and got up. "Milady?"

Smiling shyly she joined him as every eye shifted to them, the din in the room quieting considerably. To her amazement he lifted his glass and cleared his throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, waiting until everyone stilled and also held their glasses high. "A toast to our hosts, Arlene and Pieter. Thank you for bringing us together, for your love and support, and for marrying us," he said, waiting until the applause died down and the older couple waved off the attention. Erik sobered and glanced down at her. "We also wish to thank Meg's mother, Louise Giry for steering us toward each other. She is present tonight in spirit, although her company is sorely missed. Thank you all for sharing this night with us; we look forward to sharing more with you, God willing."

Tilting his glass up he drained the contents as Meg did the same, her eyes on his profile. He placed the glass down, took her hand and nodded to the others. "And now we bid you good night."

Everyone drank and applauded as he led her toward the doors, his right side facing the wall. The musicians began to play again and sound of the music followed them as they stepped out into the much cooler air. He tugged her hand and shortened his stride so that she could walk next to him. Breathing in the night air, they looked at each other and were suddenly considerably more relaxed. She looked up at him expectantly, smiling timidly.

"I have a surprise for you," he said, nodding toward his building. "This way."

"But you already surprised me," she answered, holding out her hand to gaze at the ring. Still, he walked her down the path, glancing down with a smile.

"Humor me," he said mysteriously, glancing down at her feet. "Don't worry, it's not far to walk."

"I do have a gift for you," she told him. "But it's in my room."

He looked at her questioningly, but she shook her head. "Not yet," she whispered. "Yours first."

They cut across the parish common, passing Erik's building and entering the wooded area that lined the far vineyard. Up ahead she thought she saw something move, slowing her steps. Erik tugged her hand.

"A little farther."

He led her to the edge of the vineyard where they leaned against the fence, watching the children dance. The bushes rustled, startling Meg, but Erik put his arm around her.

"It's Esther and Aaron," he explained. "The family you met earlier, with all the children and other adults."

She looked up at him. "Your special guests," she said, watching the men shake hands. She smiled at Esther, quickly turning back to watch.

"You've brought me more dancers," she said quietly, her eyes drawn to the natural talent of the children. They leapt and shouted with laughter and glees, pirouetting and swinging each other around.

Meg leaned back to study all three adults. "All of you planned this, and kept it a secret!" she said, gazing at the children in surprise. "They are very, very good…"

"You could have another class, if you so choose," Erik said softly, looking down at her. She saw his white teeth flash in the darkness. "A moonlight class."

"I could, but how can we keep them up so late? Though they seem to be having a lot of fun…"

"We wanted to meet you ever since hearing about you," Esther said eagerly. "We even spied on one of your late afternoon classes."

"Why didn't you come in?" Meg encouraged. "Everyone is welcome."

Aaron glanced over at Meg. "The children have sun sickness," he explained. "They become ill if the sun touches them. So we sleep in the day and are up all night."

"That is why we never met you before," Esther told her. "We wanted to, but found no way until your husband invited us to your wedding…the children have never seen a wedding before…"

"I'm so sorry," Meg said, looking back at the children. "I can see that they have natural ability...I would be happy to have a class for them, with your approval, and Pieter's of course."

Esther looked at Aaron, who smiled. "That would be wonderful for them, thank you…and thank you for blessing us with your wedding."

Meg nodded, looking up at Erik with renewed respect. "It was our pleasure."

Just then the children came up to them, dancing merrily around the newlyweds, introducing themselves to Meg.

She laughed, unable to remember all their names, as well as their parents' names. "Well, you will all have to wear nametags until I learn each one of your names," she told them.

"Nametags?" they shouted, setting off a series of questions, all asked with excited laughs.

"Of course, how else am I to learn my new students' names?"

There was silence, then they started laughing again. "Your students?"

"You're going to do it?"

"Teach us to dance?"

"Hooray!"

"Children!" Aaron shouted, snapping them to attention. "No, you can go run and dance, but first thank Mon. Erik and Meg, then let them go home and get some rest! They don't sleep in the day like we do!"

"Thank you, thank you!" they cried in various stages of unison, waving as they ran off to return to the fields. Their parents said a quick goodbye and left them alone again.

Meg grasped Erik's arm and leaned into it. "It was a wonderful surprise," she told him softly.

He looked down at her. "It will mean more work for you…"

"And it will mean I have to stay here…"

She waited for him to add himself to that picture, but he said nothing.

"That was wonderful of you, to invite them to the wedding. How long have they lived here?"

He shook his head. "Only a few months, I believe."

"Pieter must have plans for them," she thought aloud.

"I would assume he does."

She moved her hand down, thrilled when he laced his fingers through hers. "Now I have a surprise for you," she told him quietly. "After I change my shoes, of course."

He glanced down at her feet and looked up, a smile tilting up his mouth. "Of course." 

_c. 2007 by Christine Levitt_


	22. Chapter 22 Until It Please

_**Chapter 22 Until It Please**_

Walking hand in hand in comfortable silence they skirted the perimeter of the parish on the way toward her dormitory. The night was beautiful, stars twinkling overhead and the air pleasantly cooler than indoors. Along the path their steps startled whatever small animals hunted in the bushes, sending them rustling quickly away. Out in the meadow they could see fireflies dancing above the grasses to the lazy chirping of crickets. The surreal quality of their wedding and reception began to fade, and once again they found themselves alone together and able to relax.

Meg glanced up at Erik's profile, remembering the night they had ridden here together and marveling at the changes that had occurred between them since that time. As if sensing what she was thinking he turned to meet her gaze, tightening his hand around hers and drawing closer. Throwing him an answering smile she led him up the stairs and into her building, turning into the corridor he once navigated on crutches. By the time they stood before her door she felt guilty for having brought him here once before in secret, wondering how she could have been so bold as to force him inside. Now, unlocking the door and standing aside for him to enter by his own free will, she studied the broad span of his shoulders as he preceded her and walked into the parlor area. With a sigh he pulled the jacket he had draped over one shoulder off, tossing it onto the arm of the sofa. As she closed and latched the door behind them she noted the way he stretched his shoulders back and planted his hands on his hips.

She stopped several paces from him and crossed her arms. "It's all right, Erik," she said softly, "this time, if we are found out you're in no danger of chastisement."

His head turned and his eyes caught and held hers. "Good."

Moving past him to the upholstered chair by his side, she gestured toward the one opposite it. "Do you mind if I change my shoes?" she asked gingerly, sitting and bending to rub one ankle. When he did not reply she glanced up and smiled, blindly pulling at the lacings.

Then, as if happy to have something to do, he complied and sat watching her struggle with one lace that had knotted.

"Allow me," she heard him say as he bent and transferred her foot to his knee, his fingers already working at the knot.

A soft gasp of surprise escaped her lips as her eyes shot to his. Feeling the commanding touch of his hands upon her boot and too aware of her awkward position, she forced a smile and tugged up the drooping neckline of her dress. His eyes dropped to her neckline but quickly returned to her boot as he slowly unlaced and loosened it.

_Is this proper,_ she wondered, _given the status of our marriage in name only?_ Her eyes traveled appreciatively over his hands and upward, over the soft dark hairs of his forearms to the boundary line of his rolled up sleeves. A little voice at the back of her mind told her to forget about propriety, for he had offered to do this for her. A quick glance to his averted face told her that he was as unconcerned as she was embarrassed and affected by the intimacy of his touch.

Her boot slid off, bringing such relief that she breathed out a lusty sigh before she realized she did so. His movements froze and she caught her breath, feeling the touch of his gaze moving over her foot and ankle, then halfway up her calf to where her hemline draped. Heart pounding, she stared at the dark wave of his hair, wondering what it felt like and willing him to look up. But he did not, and it seemed as if hours passed before he moved again, taking her foot between his hands and slowly massaging it to ease her discomfort. There was magic in his fingers, she decided, feeling his capable hands work the cramping and soreness from her arch and toes. The room seemed to grow considerably warmer as she took the opportunity to study him as intently as he studied her foot. Then suddenly he looked up and caught her staring at him, his eyes burning in challenge as they held hers without flinching.

She swallowed with great effort. _So much for propriety…_

His eyes glowed with silver flecks of light, daring her to look away. To her embarrassment she did, darting glances between the strong span of his forehead where his hair touched one temple and the exposed column of his throat. Dragging her attention slowly upward she watched his lips part as he hesitated until she met his gaze once again.

"You have such small feet," he said softly, moving his attention back to her foot. He stretched his thumbs beneath her arch and gently flexed her foot, causing her to grip the arms of her chair.

_Had Ben taught him how to massage tired muscles? _she wondered, trying to envision them doing that during Erik's physical therapy. _Think about that, not about the way he is touching you._

His fingertips separated the toes of her foot and she gasped softly, meeting his eyes when he looked up in challenge. Continuing to caress her foot, she noted the challenge in his expression as if he was daring her to object. When she bit her lower lip and kept silent his eyes glinted with pleasure before returning to his work.

He was breaking every mold she had formed in her mind concerning him, contradicting his own rules with sudden and complete disregard. It was clear to them both that he was seducing her with his eyes and his touch, confirmed when his lips broadened to a smile before he lifted her other foot to his lap. She bent over to shove her hem lower in an effort to cover her shins, meeting his gaze as she straightened again. His eyes danced with pleasure at her prudish behavior but he said nothing. She felt him unlacing her other boot and when it slid off and thumped to the floor he began working out the soreness there. Unable to speak, she stared at his hands and tried not to imagine how they would feel upon the other parts of her person. When he suddenly pressed up her sore arch she curled her other foot into his thigh in response, horrified at his sharp gasp of pain.

"I'm sorry!" she squeaked, her eyes shooting to his. How could she have forgotten about his injured leg? "I didn't mean to hurt you!"

He clenched his jaw but caught the foot she drew away. "It's all right," he said, resting it upon his good thigh, alongside the other. His eyes met hers. "I'm fine."

She stared at the tiny dots of perspiration at his temples and slowly pulled her foot back. "Erik please—

I don't think…"

"—this is proper?" he finished, watching her set her foot upon the rug. "It is the best cure for strained muscles: I know from experience...and you seemed to be enjoying it."

Her eyes shot to the foot he clasped between his hands. "It is—I was—I mean they really feel much better, thank you."

He pressed the sensitive spot beneath her arch once again. "I know exactly what you mean," he said huskily.

How long would he linger over her foot, tempting her as if he was waiting for her to reach out to him? As she met the challenge in his eyes once again, she was convinced that was what he was doing. Gently withdrawing her foot, she noted how his fingers slid over her skin while she did so, as if reluctant to let her go.

"You have a blister," he said, watching her place it on the rug and smooth her dress down. "Better get some liniment from Isaac for that."

She nodded. "I will."

He looked up and slowly nodded. His gaze narrowed upon hers. "In fact," he said softly, "I thought we might fetch Prince and go for a ride."

Something approaching joy stirred deep within her as she watched him reach for her boots. "Where?" she dared ask him, praying that he would not return her here to spend the night alone.

He straightened and held out her boots. When she took them he rested his arms upon his knees and hid all emotion from his expression. "I was thinking of going up to the cabin."

A warm gush of pleasure spurted up within her heart, but she forced herself to appear unaffected by his decision. "That sounds lovely," she answered with a soft smile.

His eyes bored into hers. "We could get the liniment from the stables while we're there."

Slowly rising to her feet, she clutched her boots to her chest. "I will need to change my clothes."

He leaned back into his chair, smoothing his palms over his thighs as he nodded. "I'll wait."

"Oh, I almost forgot your gift!" she gasped, rushing to her bedroom door before she glanced back at him. His head was turned and he stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. "I won't be long!"

He nodded, his gaze flitting down her length. "Good."

When she closed the door between them she leaned back against it, casting her eyes heavenward as she tried to slow her racing heart. Dear God, what was he doing, initiating behavior that could only be described as seduction? Thrilled yet confused, she told herself to proceed with caution despite the excitement and nervousness coursing through her. Rushing to her wardrobe she pulled out her cotton dress, plagued by the fear that he might knock on her door and offer to help. In record time she slipped off her wedding gown and changed into a more suitable one, shoving her feet into comfortable shoes and pulling out the gift hidden in her top drawer. Clutching it to her heart, she smoothed a hand over her forehead and went to the door. Then, pasting a bright smile on her face she opened the door and looked for him.

His hand stopped massaging his thigh as his eyes met hers. She watched them flit over her simple dress, down to her feet and back up as she approached him. Stopping at his side, she extended the small wrapped gift, saw him glance toward it and back, his expression guarded.

"For me?" he asked softly, his gaze narrowed upon hers.

She nodded with a tiny smile, pleased at the flash of joy she saw in his eyes before it quickly vanished. His lips parted and she wondered if she had finally rendered him speechless.

"No one has ever given me a gift before," he said quietly, holding her surprised gaze.

Vowing to hide her grief and sympathy, she nudged it against his arm. "Then it's even better that I thought of it," she replied, smiling warmly despite the fact that he had not taken it. "Really Erik, it's not much compared to this beautiful ring."

His eyes shifted to her other hand, which she held up so that he would note how it sparkled in the light. Then slowly he reached out his hand and took it, drawing it to his lap where he held it between both hands. Feeling embarrassed by the considerably less costly gift she offered him, she sat down opposite him, watching as he unfastened the pale green paper with great care. Parting it as slowly as he might part a stage curtain to peek out at the audience, she watched him stare down at the small handmade book and handkerchief she had embroidered with his initials. His fingertips brushed them as if they touched precious jewels.

"The most important gift is not quite ready yet," she apologized, "these are just a little something for now."

He ran one finger along the initials, and when he looked up his eyes were moist. "You made these for me?"

She smiled happily. "The embroidery took weeks—unfortunately it is not my best skill."

He glanced down at the book, carefully opening it and slowly leafing through the pages of calligraphy that had taken her hours to complete.

"It is a collection of my favorite Scripture verses," she told him. "As well as one or two poems."

"You write poetry," he said quietly, without looking up.

"Don't worry—it's not all about you," she laughed nervously.

He looked up then. "You wrote a poem about me?"

She felt herself redden. "Don't read it now—we should be going."

As if suddenly realizing she had teased him about the contents, he fanned the pages. "Why not?" he said with a wicked smile. "Afraid I'll discover one of your deep dark secrets?"

His question was so close to the truth that she blushed hotly, staring at her clenched hands as he began to read aloud:

_"…My beloved is mine, and I am his,  
That feedeth among the lilies…"_

Noting the softening in his voice she looked up, finding his eyes upon her. They were full of questions which remained unspoken. After a moment he continued.

_"Until the day breathe, and the shadows flee away,  
Turn, my beloved, and be thou like a gazelle or a young hart  
Upon the mountains of spices…  
I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem,  
By the gazelles, and by the hinds of the field,  
That ye awaken not, nor stir up love, _

_Until it please."  
_  
When he rested the book upon one thigh and did not look up she felt suddenly embarrassed and awkward. Rising from her seat she went to her sewing table and began to straighten it, hoping he wouldn't notice how flustered she felt.

_Why did he have to read that section? _she worried._ It was meant for later, when we are more settled into married life. But to read that now—he'll just think I'm a romantic fool! _

After a prolonged silence she knew she had to do something. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that he was slowly turning the pages and studying them with great interest.

"We should be going," she said brightly, hoping to prompt him to close the book. "It's getting late."

Watching him slowly get up and come halfway toward her, she held his gaze when he stopped. "'…awaken not, nor stir up love, until it please…" he quoted, his eyes moving over her face and up to her hair. "How appropriate…"

Lifting a hand to her hair, she suddenly realized it was still up, styled in the elaborate formal arrangement Arlene had insisted upon. "I forgot my hair!" she laughed, feeling herself blushing. "I must look silly, now that I've changed—"

He took another step closer. "Take it down," he whispered, his eyes on her hair.

She backed up into her sewing chair. "I'm sorry to be so clumsy—"

"Please…" he commanded, reaching for the small bowl sitting on the table. His eyes drifted to the top section of her hair as he held it out.

_What harm could there be?_ she thought, raising her hands and hesitantly pulling out the pins and combs. These she dropped into the bowl he held for her, and after a moment she felt a large section of her hair fall down past her shoulders. All the while his eyes followed every move as he stood as if mesmerized by a sight he had never seen. When she moved her fingers to the other side he reached up and took a long tendril of her hair between his fingertips, slowly twirling it between his fingertips as he examined it closely.

"It's so soft," he breathed, meeting her gaze. The pins in her fingers dropped into the bowl with tiny clinks as she gazed at him in surprise. "Why does it smell like lemons?"

Unable to bear the heat in his gaze, she glanced away, pulling more pins from her hair. "It's the rinse," she told him."A lemon rinse washes out any oil…it might even lighten the color a little."

When he lifted a handful to his nose she couldn't help watching as he inhaled its fragrance, closing his eyes with a sigh. Without thinking she gripped his wrist, forcing his eyes open. He stared at her as if puzzled by her gesture.

"What are you doing?" she finally whispered, unable to continue the dangerous game he was playing. He might have the strength for it, but she did not.

His eyes traveled over her features in silent appraisal.. "Admiring my wife's hair," he said in a velvety tone. "Do you object?"

Slowly releasing her grip on his wrist she took the bowl from him. He dropped his arms to his sides as she turned to set it upon the table. "No," she answered, "but I think we should go now."

"...you told Pieter you weren't afraid of me," he said quietly.

She turned to face him. "I'm not—why don't you believe me?"

"Because you are acting that way."

"I _am_ a little nervous!" she breathed, flinging her hair over one shoulder.

He reached for her hand, and she saw the anguish in his expression. "Why are you nervous?"

She stared at him in disbelief, thinking he was either enjoying challenging her or totally unaware of his effect upon her. "You made it very clear that this marriage would be in name only," she reminded him.

"Yes, and you agreed."

"So we should keep our distance!"

"What does that mean?"

"You know what it means!" she choked, turning away in frustration. Busying herself with straightening the sewing table, she could not help explaining what it meant, at least in her estimation. "It certainly does _not_ mean massaging my feet in that way, or looking deeply into my eyes and sniffing my hair like that!"

When he did not answer she straightened abruptly, whirling to face him. The enigmatic smile on his face made her even more frustrated. He was doing it again: toying with her feelings and expecting her to honor his wishes. "Why are you smiling like that?" she croaked in frustration.

"It seems that we have a communication problem," he stated, coming so close that she had to tilt her head all the way back to look at him.

"And don't do that!" she huffed, planting her hands on her hips.

"Do what?"

"'Tower over' me, as you once described it!"

He bent his head close to hers. "Perhaps you could outline the gestures you deem objectionable beforehand," he said conspiratorily, "so that I will know exactly which ones to avoid."

She pressed a hand against his chest and pushed. "This is one of them!" she breathed, "standing far too close and making it hard to concentrate!"

"Very well," he agreed, taking a step back. "Is this better?" he asked, raising his hands in supplication.

"Yes, much better!" she breathed, blowing a tendril of hair off her forehead.

He took another step backward. "How about this?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" she complained, throwing her hands up to answer his indulgent smile. "I don't know—just far enough away to stop tempting me so much!"

His brows lifted in surprise as she covered her mouth in embarrassment, her eyes holding his. When he took two steps closer her heart thudded in anticipation. His eyes traveled slowly over her face, settling on her lips.

"Ah," he whispered, ducking his head toward her ear, " but it is _you_ who have been tempting _me_," he whispered.

"Me?" she squeaked, pulling back and laying a hand over her heart. "_I'm _the one trying to adhere to your rules of marriage!"

"Are you?" he laughed sarcastically, straightening to his full height.

"Yes, I am!" she declared, turning so abruptly that she began to lose her balance and grasped his arm.

He turned his head to stare down at her hand, which she snatched back, gripping the edge of the table behind her. He leaned closer, his chest nearly touching hers.

"That is not my impression," he breathed, his eyes lighting with desire. Planting her other hand on his chest to keep some distance between them, she felt him resist.

"Erik—"

Instead he reached around her and pulled her hand from the table, clasping it in his. "Have you no idea how I have lived my life all these years?" he whispered, his eyes pleading with hers. "Hidden from sight? Always keeping my distance—"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

He shook his head, his eyes holding hers. "No one has ever looked me in the eye, or touched me without a moment's hesitation," he said in a hoarse voice, "not until you."

With her eyes flooding and her throat choked with emotion, she pulled her hands from his to lay them upon his chest. Beneath the fine linen of his shirt she could feel the pounding beat of his heart. "I didn't realize," she whispered, her eyes drawn to his slightly parted lips

_Kiss him..._

His grip tightened around her hands. "I've seen how naturally you express yourself through touch," he continued in a whisper. "A hand laid upon someone's arm, a hug given to Gracie..."

She heard him swallow painfully, her eyes dropping to the enticing curve of his throat.

"And when you treat me as you do everyone else, I cannot help but crave more."

She looked up, seeing the longing in his expression. "Then don't force me to live in the same prison you once did."

She could see the astonishment in his expression as he considered her words. Feeling his grip relax, he exhaled and nodded, his eyes narrowing upon hers. "You're right," he whispered. "That is exactly what I am doing."

Dropping her head, she gripped his shirt in her fingers. "Please, Erik," she sighed. "I don't want to argue tonight."

"Neither do I," he said softly, touching his chin to her head as his hands rose to the back of her shoulders.

"I did not mean to—tempt you," she said quietly. "…not really."

After a moment she heard the soft rumble of his chuckle. "Oh, _not really_..."

She looked up into the warmth of his eyes, wiping a tear away and smiling mischievously. "Well, if we were both brutally honest we might have to admit we've been flirting, just a bit."

He nodded, toying with a curl of her hair. "All right, I admit it…but there are, I hope you realize, certain expectations hovering over one's _wedding night_."

She nodded. "Indeed there are."

They stood staring at each other, not quite knowing what came next.

_Change our agreement, Erik…you're the only one who can do it._

When the moment passed and he said nothing more, she stepped past him, aware that he turned and stood watching her gather the gifts she had made for him. When he came toward her she handed them back, folded within the wrapping paper she had painted.

"These belong to you."

"Thank you," he said quietly, taking them and clasping them to his chest. "I will treasure them always."

_Always…_ She smiled shyly. "Are you still offering that ride under the stars?"

He nodded. "It may have grown cooler, though."

She went to the door and took a shawl from the hook, draping it over her arm as he came to her side. "Arlene and I moved some of my things up to the cabin," she told him, opening the door and glancing back over one shoulder. "Just in case…"

"I believe that was the plan," he said soberly, watching her step into the hall before following her.

"It was Pieter's plan," she stated, reaching past him to lock the door. "But I wasn't sure it was yours."

He waited until she faced him again, his eyes searching hers. "I cannot think of a better one, unless you are able."

She took his arm and they started down the corridor. "Not at the moment," she answered, smiling up at him.

c. 2007 by Christine Levitt


	23. Chapter 23 A Moonlit Ride

Prince sputtered as Erik pulled himself up and into the saddle, careful to keep his leg in proper position. It was a maneuver he had practiced many times, but never in Meg's presence. And never when his muscles ached so badly. To make matters worse, Meg stood on the platform watching him carefully, concern evident in her expression. Hating his weakness and the awkward moments between them back in her room, he bent over to stretch out a hand toward her. She clasped it tightly, smiling up at him as if with sudden inspiration.

"Are you sure about this?" she teased, gathering her skirts with the other hand. "I fully admit to nagging you about a ride."

"Of course I'm sure," he replied, pursing his lips and tugging at her hand. At his prompting she lifted her leg and placed the toe of her shoe atop his boot. "Why do you ask?"

"That fierce frown makes me doubt it," she stated, nodding toward Prince's bobbing head. "_He_ even seems to have his reservations."

Swinging her up easily and planting her sideways before him, Erik smiled at her gasp of surprise. "Prince is well accustomed to my moods."

"You could have warned me!" she scolded, shoving her skirts back down in ladylike offense. "I wasn't quite ready to mount."

"I wouldn't worry," he breathed, leaning close to whisper in her ear. "The only matrons of society present are the mares and chickens whom I doubt are overly shocked by a flash of female knee."

"Oh, you are an impossible rake," she huffed, nudging aside his hand and placing hers on the pommel instead.

Steeling himself against the slide of her hand across the back of his waist and the nudge of her hip inside his good thigh, he concentrated on turning Prince toward the exit. She fit perfectly in his arms, yet the sweet torture of her body brushing against his sorely tested his years of strict discipline and celibacy. Her closeness and femininity had been slowly eroding his defenses over the past few weeks to the point where he now relished the opportunity to be close to her. Hence the disaster in her room only moment before.

"And furthermore, I am not accustomed to your moods." she added, shifting forward to assume the posture of a fine horsewoman. "So you must give me fair warning if I am to save us the trouble of pitching sideways off my perch."

"Warning heeded," he replied, lifting the reins and clicking his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Prince set off eagerly as Meg clutched his arm for support. He chuckled at her obvious outrage and urged Prince through the deep bed of straw, raising dust all around them. Curling his arm around Meg, he guided them through the doors and out into the cool, clear night.

Taking a deep breath, he gazed heavenward at the glittering canopy of stars. Prince trotted happily toward the road leading alongside the pastures as the beauty of the night captured their attention. Meg sighed gratefully and relaxed a bit more as she studied the still, moonlit landscape stretching invitingly before them. Given the opportunity to study her, Erik drank in the tempting sight of her long, slender neck and the tip of shoulder peeking out from her drooping neckline. Her fragrance stirred his senses as his eyes traveled up the curve of her cheek to her hair. He leaned his head closer, wondering if he dare bury his face in its obvious softness.

When she turned suddenly and looked him right in the eye he froze at the challenge in her eyes. Not breaking eye contact, he stared into her dark eyes wishing it was daylight and that he could see more clearly into their depths. After a moment's hesitation her lips lifted slowly toward a smile, and he found himself doing the same. When her eyes lowered to his lips he felt his heart pound with desire, knowing without a doubt that she wanted his kiss. And that she had wanted it for some time.

When she lifted her eyes back to his he diverted his attention forward, aware of the lingering touch of her gaze. Her hand tightened around his waist but he willed her to look all she wanted. And suddenly it mattered little that his face was deformed and he was a wanted man. Tonight they had each other, and they wanted each other. _Let her look all she wanted._

Exhilarated and feeling more free than he had ever felt before, Erik urged Prince faster along the access road which led toward the lake. He was aware of Meg turning forward again, and sensed her happiness. Night had always been his, protecting and shielding him from the stares of others, yet tonight it was hers as well. Comparing the young woman in his arms with the shy and serious prima ballerina of the Opera Populaire, he marveled at the changes in her. Here, away from the strict observance of her mother and fellow competitors, she was carefree and exciting. And as she turned to look up at him with joy and confidence he wondered how he could have overlooked her all these years. Or, more correctly, forced himself to overlook her.

Sensing their excitement, Prince trotted enthusiastically along the same route he and Ben had taken the day before at Ben's insistence. Ever since Pieter had pressed the key to the cabin into his palm and Ben guided him along the route to the summit, Erik had dreamed of this night. Laying aside his concern for what might transpire once they got there, he concentrated on sharing and prolonging the journey, beginning with a circuit around the lake.

"I should switch to riding astride," she announced, shifting back toward the center of the saddle.

He glanced down at her exposed calf with frank appreciation. "You are wearing a dress," he reminded her.

"But I keep slipping at this pace."

"Don't worry, I won't let him run."

"But he wants to," she pouted, exaggerating the gesture when he did not quickly agree.

"I know," he chuckled, nodding toward Prince's intense concentration. "He always wants to run."

She shifted again, this time leaning tentatively back against his chest. He tightened his arm around her, finding it particularly and satisfyingly ironic that she seemed to have forgotten all about her lecture to keep some distance between them. Their relationship was certainly a challenge, he had to admit, one which thrilled and beckoned to make the most of, regardless of the circumstances.

She sighed contentedly, the sound drawing his eyes to the lovely curve of her lips. "This reminds me of another night," she mused, gazing up into his eyes. "Only then you were not as attentive to our conversation."

He groaned. "Please spare me the details concerning what I may have said, for which I now heartily beg your pardon."

She laughed. "It was a very enlightening conversation," she teased, "that is, when you were able to carry one along."

"May I remind you that I was injured, not drunk," he clarified.

"You did sound a bit…distracted."

"I am sure I was, by the pain; by the way, how did you ever manage to keep me from being unhorsed?"

She smoothed her hand up his bare arm, poking her fingertips inside the rolled up sleeve of his dress shirt and touching the inside of his elbow. It was a gesture that surprised and shook him with its power. "I pulled at your arms and kept them around me," she informed him.

_She doesn't realize how much her touch affects me,_ he thought distractedly, again finding it difficult to concentrate on their conversation. For quite different reasons.

"Is that so?" he asked hesitantly, trying to picture the scene she was setting.

She nodded. "When you kept slipping toward oblivion I was forced to elbow you quite vigorously."

He cradled his ribs in mock offense. "How efficient."

"But after a while that no longer worked."

"And then what?"

"When you slumped forward it was necessary to ride with my nose to the pommel."

He laughed. "I would have liked to have seen that...any other maneuvers I should know about?"

"'Maneuvers?'" she said in mock offense. "These were necessary measures to keep you from being thrown into the ditch, sir!"

Pausing the conversation to turn them into the curve in the road, he urged Prince to refrain from galloping once they straightened out again. "I recall hearing Ben tease you about something else."

"You mean the 'how did you manage to keep him up' taunt?"

"The very one."

"Well I will never divulge that secret to him, particularly after all his teasing!"

"But I think _I_ deserved an explanation, being the innocent victim."

She studied him a moment and sighed indulgently. "It was simple: Don Juan's cummerbund."

Pulling his attention from the road, he frowned at her impish smile. "_What?_"

She laughed delightedly, tightening her arm around his waist. "The one you were wearing—the black satin cummerbund," she lectured. "It took some effort but I did manage to pull enough of it out to fasten around my waist, using it to tie us together. It worked perfectly!"

He drew back slightly. "I'm shocked, Meg."

She giggled. "Don't tell Ben or Isaac—I am rather enjoying their efforts to figure it out!"

"They'll never figure it out," he stated blandly. "How would they even know of such an item's existence?"

"They wouldn't, unless they were accustomed to dressing for Paris society, as you are."

"What happened to it, might I dare ask?"

"I hid it in the bushes by the gate."

"It happens to belong to me—"

"But I hid it to protect my reputation!"

"From what reason?" he wanted to know. "You did what it took to get me here."

"Erik—a _lady_ does not take the liberty to remove such a….personal article of a man's clothing, even if he is senseless at the moment."

"You mean an unmarried lady," he said with a grin. "Though _I_ would have no objections to that"

"You, sir, enjoy complete and total freedom from the watchful eyes of society."

"Yes, and thankfully so," he admitted. "Though I still cannot envision you managing it while riding."

"It was definitely a challenge," she sighed, eyeing him from head to bent leg. "You are quite large in stature."

"Only when compared to a mite."

"Mite?" she huffed, "perhaps, but only if compared to a giant."

"I trust you use that term with some degree of respect?"

"But why, when you ridicule my size?"

He frowned at the irritation in her tone. "Would you rather I agree with everything you say?"

"Of course I would—what woman wouldn't want that in a husband?"

He snorted. "You want a slave, not a husband," he said with a shake of the reins, causing Prince to speed up.

She tightened her arm around his waist. "You said you wouldn't let him run!" she squeaked.

He scooped her back against his chest. "I've got you."

"I certainly hope so," she breathed, clamping both hands onto his forearms, "after all I did with your cummerbund!"

He laughed and shifted his gaze toward the lake just coming into view. "Look at that," he sighed appreciatively, enjoying the gentle flick of her hair against his face.

They could see the silver glitter from the moonlight as it played upon the surface of the deep. The distant peaks loomed high like dark silhouettes against the swirls of starlight beyond. The moon was leaving full phase, providing adequate light along the road that edged closer to the banks of the water.

"It's so beautiful," she said softly as he slowed Prince to a gentle trot.

They rode in companionable silence, taking in the view. The only other time Erik had been here was during his days of suffering Ben's grueling schedule in order to strengthen his leg. As he had suspected it was an entirely different place at night. Especially in Meg's company.

"Erik…"

"Hmm?"

"Would you teach me to swim?"

At his silence she turned her head to look up at him, and he met her gaze. Ben had said she had refused his tutelage, the excuse being his lack of patience. Somehow she must have decided that he might qualify, but lessons would take time and they had only three days before he was to face the authorities. Still, something told him to disregard all that and pretend they had the hope of a future.

"Of course," he answered, as if another voice had spoken for him. "I would be happy to, though you know nothing of my qualifications."

"Ben told me you're an excellent swimmer."

"He did."

"Yes, and he's so critical that I know I can trust your abilities completely," she stated. "I am curious, though, how you managed to learn."

He reached up to tuck a strand of hair back behind her ear. The breeze was stiff, but warm and quite welcome. "Did you ever see the underground lake, beneath the opera house?"

"No, but Maman mentioned it," she said softly, a smile spreading across her face. "She was afraid you would fall in and drown without anyone knowing."

He chuckled. "That sounds like your mother's thinking."

"It does—so you obviously taught yourself."

He drew back a bit. "Is it that obvious?"

"I'm sorry—"

"No offense taken," he assured her. "I did spend time studying other swimmers as well."

"But how—and where?"

He raised a skeptical brow. "I do get out once in a while."

"Yes, of course, but swimming? Where, the river?"

"The park," he informed her. "You would be surprised how many people sneak out there to swim after dark—leaving their clothes behind in the bushes not unlike your treatment of my cummerbund."

"And you watched?"

"Not the disrobing!" he huffed. "I had to learn some way."

"Were any of them women?"

"Not many, thankfully."

"So you admit to being a voyeur."

"Hardly!" he defended himself. "I came upon them quite unexpectedly."

"But you watched."

"All right, yes—I did!"

She stared at him in mute horror, and squeezing his arm she began to shake with laughter. "I'm not laughing at you—but at the sight of someone leaving their clothes in the bushes and the police taking them!"

"Or the phantom."

She covered her mouth, smiling despite her shock. "You didn't!"

He kept his gaze averted to the lake.

"Erik, you didn't!" she accused, still laughing. "You stole their clothes?"

"Just as a warning never to repeat the offense," he explained.

Controlling her laughter, she shook her head. "I'm sure it worked!"

"I didn't wish to come upon that sight ever again," he remembered, looking back at her. "A man can't even go out at night without having his privacy violated."

She tilted her head to study him. "Perhaps I should find another swim instructor, for fear of somehow losing track of _my_ clothes."

He narrowed his gaze upon her face. "Perhaps you should," he whispered suggestively.

She slapped his arm playfully. "I really wish to learn, Erik, and I think you might understand why I cannot chose Ben."

He shrugged. "I found him an excellent teacher."

She huffed. "He's not your brother…and though it may not be by blood, it is certainly by will," she answered, gazing off toward the lake again. Then she laughed softly. "Did you see how fast he pulled off his tie at the reception? And the jacket was not far behind."

"I saw," he chuckled, remembering Ben's expressions of relief. "He must be a fine brother, swimming lessons and teasing aside."

She turned her head. "Well he's your brother now, too—by marriage."

Suddenly confronted with their newfound status, he nodded slowly. For not only did he now have a wife, he had a brother-in-law, and mother-in-law as well…a family…

"Let's hope Ben treats you as he has in the past," she mused. "He may seem fun loving and casual, but when you are related to him it can be quite a different story."

Erik was stunned. "Fun loving? Casual?" he breathed. "He made me work my leg all day in the heat, with barely a break. I've never met a tougher disciplinarian, aside from myself—"

She clapped her hands delightedly. "You've finally admitted it!" she laughed, reaching out to hug him. "I'm so impressed."

Not sure he liked the compliment, he hesitated in hugging her back. "Admitted what?"

"How tough you are! You are a lot like Ben—a strict disciplinarian."

Not sure he liked the comparison, he shot back: "What about 'fun loving' and 'casual'?"

She laughed harder. "Not quite…except for stealing the swimmers' clothing…"

Having had enough of her teasing he urged Prince faster, earning a screech of surprise. He grinned, noting how effectively that stopped her laughing.

"Slow down!" she pleaded, curling her fingers into his arms. "I'll stop teasing! I promise!"

"I said I've got you!" he reminded her, clamping his hand around her small waist. "If you still want to ride astride, go ahead and switch."

With that she bent one leg over Prince's haunches and leaned back into his embrace, swinging her foot over and into the stirrups. Both shoes pressed atop his feet as she tried to shove her skirt down. The breezed pulled at it mercilessly as she struggled to tuck the fabric close, but he leaned close to her ear.

"I won't tell anyone if you don't," he breathed, feeling her shiver of response along his chest, they rode that close together.

Turning her head, she smiled to cover up her embarrassment. "Then let him run!" she urged, her voice eager.

He raised both brows and smiled. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, gripping his hand where it held the pommel. "Now more than ever!"

"It's your choice," he reminded her, finally letting Prince have his way as he nudged his heels and they flew off toward the far edge of the lake.

_c. 2007 by Christine Levitt _


	24. Chapter 24 The Cabin

_**Chapter 24 The Cabin**_

An hour later they arrived at the cabin after having circled the lake and ridden up to explore the heights surrounding the cabin. Satisfied that Prince had gained enough of a workout to offset his weeks of pampering, he guided him to a halt just outside the small stable adjoining the house. Though it was very late and his leg throbbed mercilessly, Meg wore a contented smile when she turned to face him. He slowly lowered his arms from her waist and met her beaming gaze.

"That was wonderful," she breathed, lifting a hand to his shoulder. "I'd never ridden up this far before."

"I thought you might enjoy it," he replied, grasping her elbow as she bent her leg and switched back to a sidesaddle position.

Pulling his boot from the stirrup he straightened his aching leg and slowly slid from Prince's back. Drawing in a tight breath, he took a moment to stretch before reaching up for her. Placing his hands at her waist he watched her lean over and felt her hands grip his shoulders. He lifted her stared down at her as her feet touched the ground between his. The light brush of her hands down his shirt affected him more than he cared to admit, but he pursed his lips as he reached behind her for the reins.

"Riding that long must have cost you a great deal of comfort," she stated, watching him take them in hand.

He glanced down at her and flashed a smile. "It was worth it," he said under his breath, holding her gaze.

There it was again, the tension, the indecision. She was standing very close and for a moment he thought she might touch him again. Then she raised her eyebrows and bit her bottom lip, a gesture he was becoming quite fond of.

"So you'll teach me to swim?"

He studied her a moment, slowly shaking his head. "You never give up, do you?"

"Never," she smiled unashamedly. "Nor do you."

He chortled as he reached up to loosen the strap over his portmanteau. "If you'd like—we could start tomorrow if the weather stays warm."

She stepped aside as he pulled it from the saddle and handed it to her. "We did agree to brunch with Arlene and Pieter," she reminded him.

"After that," he suggested, "on our way back here."

"All right," she agreed, watching while he turned Prince toward the stable.

He nodded toward the door. "Go ahead—I'll see to Prince."

She dipped into a formal curtsey and turned away. He stood with his back to her, listening to the soft sounds of her steps as she climbed the stairs and crossed the porch. Patting Prince's neck, he heard her unlock the door with the key he had given over to her care. At the water trough Prince lapped greedily while he stared at the window from which soft yellow light streamed out and lit the floorboards. The cabin shone with welcoming charm and he stared at it longingly, well aware of the intimacy it offered and the change in the status of their relationship. At that moment Prince lifted his head and snorted, making Erik chuckle softly as he patted his neck.

"Don't worry, boy," he said softly, taking the reins to lead him into the stall. "I won't get too far ahead of myself."

Half an hour later he managed to climb the steps and walk toward the open door of the cabin. She had left it open, and as paused to lay a hand upon the doorframe he stared at her in silence. Having no doubt heard or seen him approach, she stood standing at the table in the center of the room, her eyes holding his. After a moment's hesitation he studied the white nightgown covering her from neck to feet, concentrating on the toes that were peeking out beneath its hemline. Behind her the soft glow of a lantern left lit in the bedroom outlined her form despite the heavy cotton of her gown. He swallowed, convinced that she was completely unaware of what the light revealed to him. Shifting his attention to her face, he noted her shy smile before admiring the soft drape of her hair around her shoulders as it hung there unbound.

Clenching his jaw he tightened his hands into fists in an effort to quell the desire stirring within him at the sight of her. Her eyes widened as he grasped for a course of action to take to distract both of them, yet all that came to mind was the little book she had made for him and the verse he had read aloud from it:

_Awaken not, nor stir up love, until it please…_

Smiling nervously, she touched the edge of the white porcelain basin at her side. "I'm heating some water to pour over these herbs," she informed him with a shaky voice. "For your leg."

Thankful for the interruption, he started toward her with a stiff limp he was unable to hide. "I'm fine," he answered, reaching for his bag as he headed toward the bedroom.

At his prompt she moved toward the stove with a wave. "Go ahead and change—I will bring it in when it's ready."

Upon entering the room he closed the door gently and stood taking in the sight of their bedroom. It was surprisingly large and pleasantly furnished, yet not as welcoming as her room was. Wondering why he had ever agreed to massaging her feet on the condition that she be allowed to help him, he realized the moment had nevertheless come. Resigned to his fate, he dragged himself to the wardrobe and set his bag upon the chair next to it. Reaching inside for the cut off pants he'd worn while recovering, he glanced up at the clothes hanging inside the wardrobe. The dress she had just removed hung separate, yet there were other dresses hanging next to his own clothing. Ben must have moved them up here, he realized, trailing his fingertips over the sleeves of her dresses and feeling somehow like a robber. Yet he knew how smoothly everything had come together to lead him to this night. _To Meg. _

Turning to study the room with a more critical eye, he noted the high double bed, invitingly made up to welcome them. Small pillows rested against the bed pillows, and she had turned down the coverlet as if to welcome him. A small lantern stood on the bedside table, burning low and adding to the intimate atmosphere of the room. The heat of the day had left it uncomfortably hot and stuffy inside, so he crossed the room and opened the small window to admit the night air. Windows were a luxury he had never afforded, living underground. He lifted his hands to his hips and stood before it, breathing in the cooler air. Still, it would take time to air out the oppressive heat. He heard the sound of a stirring and thought of Meg in that long sleeved nightgown. Then he thought of his own lack of bedclothes. He had always slept without clothes, but as he smiled bitterly he knew that was one habit that must be changed immediately.

Lifting a hand to the back of his neck, he turned to stare down at the bed, finally lowering himself to its edge and stretching his leg out before him. Reaching down, he pulled off his boots and stockings, noting the halt in the sound of stirring in the next room. It occurred to him that she would soon be coming in, so he rose stiffly, unfastened his trousers and shoved them down. Changing into the cut off ones, he finally eased back against one pillow and unbuttoned his shirt, leaving it on despite the temperature in the room. As he began to loosen his bandage he comforted himself with the thought that only a few hours remained before dawn and his release from the intimate confines of the romantic little cabin. Until then, his mind drifted yet again to thoughts he had no right entertaining.

A soft knock on the door catapulted him back to the present.

"Erik—may I come in?"

He pressed back against the pillow and eyed the door. "Come," he called, surprised at the hoarseness of his voice. The door opened slowly to reveal her standing with the bowl between both hands, her eyes searching his. An arc of awareness shot between them but she smiled and moved toward the bedside table next to him, carefully setting the bowl down.

"I said I'm fine…"

She glanced at him as she transferred a small towel she had tucked beneath her arm to one side of the bowl, apparently to soak up the water. He sniffed at the steamy fragrance of herbs rising from the water.

"It's very clear you're not," she stated blandly, mixing the water with one edge of the towel. Then she smiled impishly at him, her eyes holding his in challenge.

He shook his head, smiling despite himself. "You're not going to take no for an answer," he concluded.

She glanced toward his half bared leg. "You brought those cut-off pants for a reason."

"For changing the dressing," he explained. "But I suppose you'll have to win this argument as well."

"My obedient husband," she laughed, looking into his eyes.

With a curt nod he waited, watching her wring the towel out before she handed him the bowl. He took it, cradling it on his lap as she planted her knee on the mattress and climbed onto the bed. He caught a brief glance of her leg before she shoved down the gown. Shifting his attention to her face, he noted the fascination in her expression just before she lifted her gaze from his parted shirt. Caught, she held his knowing look before glancing down at the bandage covering his thigh. Though he would have preferred sparing her the sight of his swollen and heavily bruised wound, he knew it was a hopeless endeavor. So with one quick flick of his wrist he pushed it aside, watching her grimace before she pressed the compress over its length.

"Ah," he gasped, digging his fingers into the mattress as he stared at her face, surprised by the heat and sting of its touch.

"Too hot?" she worried, starting to lift it away as he gripped and held her wrist.

"No," he groaned, immediately loosening his grip as he stretched back in thanksgiving. The heat turned to cold, a strange yet perfect combination of water and herbs that was incredibly soothing. "Just right," he sighed, beginning to relax despite his embarrassment at the ugliness of his wounds.

"If you thought the sight of it would repel me," she challenged, "you were wrong."

He smiled seductively in an effort to distract her. "It looks fairly grotesque," he teased.

"Not compared to when it was bloodied and dirty," she sighed matter of factly. "Then again, you had no idea that I watched while Pieter sewed it back together."

"Ah," he smiled in admiration, nodding to her. "I had thought Ben did that."

"Pieter has more experience," she informed him sweetly. "He was a battle surgeon, years ago."

"Hmm," he sighed, feeling the effects of the herbs reaching down through the skin and into the muscles. Closing his eyes, he rested his head back against the pillow. After a moment she lifted the compress, soaked it and wrung it out again. Not bothering to interrupt, he felt it press back against the wound again, having an even more beneficial effect. The silence in the room no longer bothered either of them, and he felt himself grow more and more drowsy. Yet when her fingers stroked his knee his eye shot open, meeting her waiting gaze.

"Once warmed, ready for work," she explained, pressing her fingers into the surrounding muscles of his thigh as she held the compress in place.

Swallowing a groan of protest, he gripped his leg, his hand close to hers. "Easy," he warned.

She looked up, continuing her massage. "So stiff and hard," she said softly, her eyes challenging. Shifting one hand beneath his leg, she pressed against the muscle spasm.

He laughed while tightening his jaw, watching her slowly knead the cramping and pain from his leg. "Ben trained you well," he groaned in pleasure.

"I asked him specifically about this," she admitted, leaning into her work. By now the compress has been transferred back to the basin, which she took from him to set back onto the table. "Where, might I ask, did you learn the art of foot massage?"

He grinned as she resumed her careful manipulation of his leg. "My imagination."

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise as she coaxed him to bend his knee just a bit.

"Isolation has its rewards," he admitted carefully, studying her at his leisure.

She blushed but shifted her hands higher, up beneath the middle section of his thigh. He stiffened and she stopped, questioning his protest.

"It's better, thank you," he said, his voice husky with desire. A few more centimeters and she would have—

"Do you want the stiffness to come back?" she warned. "It might if you don't let me finish."

"Another 'husbands obey your wives' ruling?" he hedged.

"We both know it's the other way around, unless you're in pain."

Before he could reply she reached for a dry towel and laid it over the wound, taking his hand and guiding it overtop. "Hold this," she ordered, moving off the bed.

Intrigued, he obeyed, watching her open the drawer of the wardrobe and take out a small jar. She approached him from the other side of the bed, climbing up onto it before she removed the lid and dipped her fingertips inside.

"What's that?" he asked suspiciously.

She looked up with a smile, scooping out a large dollop of yellow paste and spreading it over her hands. "You'll see—"

"That's not Isaac's liniment," he said, pointing out the obvious.

She met his gaze. "This is better—it should keep you limber for hours."

"How? What's in it, Meg?"

She batted her eyelashes at him. "My secret ingredient."

He sniffed, drawn by the sinuous movement of her fingers as she warmed the ointment for him. "It's not perfumed, is it?"

"What's the matter," she teased, "afraid you'll smell like a girl?"

He met her gaze. "Yes, very much so."

She laughed softly and leaned forward, gripping his thigh with her hands before she began to smooth the ointment over the skin surrounding the wound. He gripped the mattress to keep from pulling her hands away, so alluring was her touch as she stroked his leg. Testing him, challenging him.

_Could it be that she hasn't a clue what she is doing? _he wondered, feeling desire flood every inch of his body.

Her hair brushed his lap as she leaned closer, practically stretched over him. He could smell the fragrance of her hair, and her face was close enough for him to steal a kiss.

"You need to relax, Erik," she said in that low, husky voice of hers. He stared into the warm brown depths of her eyes, telling himself that she was thinking only of his comfort. But when she slid her hand toward the place where he had stopped her before he held his breath. Noting the change in him, she paused, her eyes wide.

"Enough," he ordered softly, holding her gaze. After a moment he handed her the dry towel.

She looked disappointed as she slowly moved away, wiping the ointment from her hands. He exhaled a tense breath and moistened his lips, a gesture which seemed to capture her attention.

"All the dancers swear by it," she defended herself. "It does wonders, after long sessions at the barre."

"I'm sure," he sighed, reaching for the clean bandage he'd laid out beforehand. "Thank you."

She climbed off the bed and picked up her things, turning at the door. "I'll just put these away."

While she was gone he wrapped his leg, thankful for her ministrations but feeling guilty for his reaction to them. By the time she returned he had shifted to his side of the bed and turned back the covers. Not that they would need them. Her posture was proper, her movements businesslike as she capped the ointment and returned it to the drawer.

"I forgot to ask you about that blister," he offered, watching her closely.

"It's much better," she answered, pausing to glance back at him. "I used the liniment you gave me."

He nodded. "Good."

She turned halfway away and began to braid her hair into one thick tail. Perspiration beaded his forehead and dampened his shirt beneath his arms. He cast a doubtful look at her heavy nightgown.

"Do you have a summer nightgown?" he surprised himself by asking.

Her eyes shot to his opened shirt, then up to his. "No—I've never been here in the summertime," she answered a bit awkwardly. "All those clothes are back home in Paris."

He dropped his eyes to her long sleeves, wondering why she did not roll them up, or at least unfasten them. "I see."

"The window—" she said, nodding toward it with a weak smile. "It's not doing much good."

"No," he answered softly, watching her carefully. "Are you uncomfortable, Meg?"

Her eyes traveled slowly downward, resting at the place where his shirt parted. Her hands had long since stilled their braiding. She met his gaze, her plea obvious. "Are you?" she whispered.

Desire leapt between them, strong and unrelenting. He watched her come closer, lifting his hand to take hers. She gripped it tightly, her eyes settling on his lips. He had the strongest urge to pull her down and fasten his mouth to hers. To kiss her the way he had only dreamt about for weeks. Then he remembered their agreement, as well as his future. Squeezing her hand, he looked away, swallowing against an incredibly dry throat.

"It's late," he breathed, sighing in resignation as he released her hand. "Better get some sleep."

She reached for her braid as he turned away, daring to pull off his shirt though he kept his back to her. Tossing it to the chair, he slid down to lay on his side as she lowered the wick of the lamp, plunging the room into semi-darkness. When he felt her climb onto her side of the bed he shifted to his back, catching the glance she threw to his bare chest.

"Do you mind if we leave the other lantern on?" she asked softly.

He looked out at the lantern left burning low on the dining room table. "No, not if you prefer it on."

"I'm—" she began, faltering as she looked into his eyes. "I'm afraid of the dark," she admitted with a nervous laugh.

He watched her nestle her head into her pillow, pleased that she chose to lie close to him. "Why?"

She looked up at him in silence, as if never having considered the answer. "It's just something I've done, ever since the night of the attack."

Suddenly overwhelmed with compassion for her, he smiled tenderly. "I understand."

She pushed her hands beneath her pillow, plumping it up for herself as she studied him. "I hope it doesn't interfere with your sleep."

He closed his eyes. "It won't."

"Good, I'm glad," she sighed. He could hear the quiet chirp of crickets, far off in the meadow. "Good night, Erik."

He listened to the soft sound of her breathing, shifting his hands beneath his head as he gave up. He was wide awake, his senses heightened to her every move or sound. "You must be hot," he whispered, not daring to look at her. "I won't mind if you make yourself more comfortable."

After a moment he heard her move her arm but was afraid to look at her. "I think I will," she agreed.

He tried not to imagine what the soft whispers of fabric might reveal, were he to watch. After a moment she stilled and he closed his eyes again, willing himself to fall into a deep sleep. The pace of her breathing told him she was awake as well.

"Thank you for taking care of my leg," he whispered to her. "It feels much better."

"Have you had cramping at night?"

"Day and night."

He heard the sound of her turning her head on her pillow. "Even with all your exercising and swimming?"

"Not immediately after, but often enough."

"You will recover, eventually; you have to believe that."

He withdrew his hands from behind his head and lowered them to his sides, looking up at the ceiling. Then he heard her soft sigh and felt her hand touch his. Taking it in his, he turned his head toward her.

"Thank you for marrying me," she said simply.

"I was just going to say the same thing," he said truthfully, squeezing her hand gently. He tried to slow the pounding of his heart, wondering if she was aware of it. When she tugged her hand free she rose up to glance down at him.

"I don't wish to be rude, but I cannot sleep on my back," she told him. "It has to be on my left side." With that she turned and lay back down, turned away from him. With a contented sigh, she settled in apparent comfort. "It's nothing personal, Erik."

"I've had the same problem since the injury," he admitted, doing the same. Cupping the pillow beneath is face, he studied the gentle wave of her hair in an effort to concentrate on the blessing of her nearness. Never before had he slept in the same bed as anyone.

After a moment she turned her head. "Would you mind holding me," she asked in a small voice "Just for a little while?"

He had come to this moment determined to hold no expectations, at least none based in reality. Unable to think of a reason to object, he moved toward her and gathered her in his arms. She snuggled against him, tucking her head beneath his chin and clasping his arm. The fit of her compact body against his larger frame was exhilarating, and he found himself more acutely attuned to the language of her body. Breathing in the sweet lemony fragrance of her hair, he marveled at its softness against his cheek. Her back curved temptingly against his chest and abdomen, her feet remarkably cold against his shins. Tightening his arms around her, he buried his face against her neck and felt her shiver as she laughed nervously.

"That tickles," she giggled, stretching her neck to escape him. But he only did it again, laughing at her reaction.

"You didn't tell me you were ticklish," he accused, making her squeal with the torture of his tickling.

"Stop that!' she scolded, slapping his arm.

"Very well," he sighed, dropping his head back to the pillow but keeping her close.

"Thank you," she sighed, running her fingers along his knuckles. "Your arms feel good."

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. "Stop temping me and go to sleep," he ordered softly, gripping her tighter when she ran her toes along his instep. "I could move to the stable," he warned, lifting his head.

"I'll stop!" she teased, relaxing in his embrace so that he could do the same.

The moments ticked by, wherein he realized that somewhere in the dining room a mantle clock stood counting down their time together. Taking the warning to heart, he stilled and concentrated on the sound of her breathing, noting the change when it slowed and deepened. As she found her rest he became increasingly drowsy, his last conscious thought the cool gust whispering in through the window and prompting him to draw one blanket over their shoulders.

Erik awoke with a start, lifting his head and trying to discern where he was. Nestled against him, her forehead tucked into his shoulder, was Meg. Staring in disbelief at the sight of his own arm draped over her hip, he realized that her feet were wrapped trustingly around his ankles, imprisoning him. He smiled, fully aware of their position as well as the fact that, judging by the strength of the light streaming in through the window, they had slept much longer than planned. Still, he couldn't help seizing the opportunity to not only rejoice but also take advantage of the circumstances by studying her while she slept.

Her skin shone like pearl, fair and creamy, begging for his touch. The perfect shape of her face offered him a close up view as his eyes traveled appreciatively over the curve of her cheek, narrowing upon the place where her eyelashes brushed its soft surface. Unable to resist, he lowered his gaze to stare in fascination at the dusky pink of her lips, focusing upon the soft spot where they parted just enough to tease his senses. Immediately rewarded with a hot stab of desire, he squeezing his eyes shut and dropped his head in frustration.

_Marriage of convenience? What could he have been thinking?_

As if sensing he was awake, she stirred slightly, tilting her chin up and brushing this throat with her nose. He opened his eyes in anticipation of watching her awaken, the hand nearest her elbow shifting to gently squeeze her arm. To his immense satisfaction and tortured regret she stretched along his length, causing him to feel her softness with every centimeter of his body. He drew his lower body away from the soft curve of her hips and lifted the shoulder pillowing her head.

"Meg," he breathed, moving his hand from her hip to the back of her hair. "Wake up."

"Hmm?" she sighed, stiffening and quickly lifting her head. She took a moment to stare into his eyes before glancing at the beam of light slicing into the opposite wall. Her hand gripped his bare triceps. "Erik—what time is it?" she gasped.

"I think it's late," he said, easing himself from beneath the blankets and moving to the edge of the bed. It did not escape his notice that she shoved her nightgown from just above her knees to her ankles.

"Arlene!" she said, springing up and flinging the coverlet away. She stood facing him, running a hand through her hair as she quickly scanned his bare chest and half fastened waistband.

Noting the rise in her color he reached for his watch and opened it. "11:30!" he declared, snapping it shut and reaching to his boots. "Better hurry."

"We're going to be late!" she squeaked, rushing to the wardrobe and grabbing a cotton dress.

They scrambled around the room and got in each other's way until Erik picked up his change of clothes and shaving kit, sidestepped her once again and made his way to the door.

"I'll shave in the kitchen," he offered. "Come out when you're ready."

"I won't be!" she gasped, pulling the dress over her head. "I don't have enough time!"

"It will take less than five minutes to ride down," he reassured her, pulling the door after him before he paused. Watching her struggle to poke her had through the neckline, he smiled at her bare feet and thought better than to offer his assistance. "I'll be waiting outside with Prince."

"All right—I'll try to hurry! Now go!"

c. 2007 by Christine Levitt


	25. Chapter 25 The Suspect

_**Chapter 25 – The Suspect **_

"You think you can _trap_ the Buquet brothers?" Mme. Giry asked in disbelief, staring at Detective Aubin and finding his confident smile extremely irritating. "But they have eluded capture for years!"

"That is about to end," he said casually.

The challenge in his expression piqued her irritation. _His eyes are too blue,_ she thought, _too distracting. _She could feel them piercing the armor covering her heart. Narrowing her gaze, she studied him suspiciously. "What makes you think _you _will succeed?"

He almost smiled, the creases around his eyes threatening but not delivering. "Your help, of course—not to mention the substantial reward your friends have offered for capturing the Opera Ghost."

She had read about that reward, worrying that its temptation might force the hand of violence. Yet it was obvious the donors were anonymous. "I have no idea what you are talking about," she huffed, toying with a frayed spot on her sleeve.

He turned away and strolled slowly toward the window. "Think, Madame," he insisted, standing by the window to gaze down at the busy streets. "Whom do you know that might have a different, perhaps less obvious reason for desiring an audience with the infamous Phantom of the Opera?"

Despite the fact that she thought his assumption preposterous, her mind nevertheless focused upon the newspaper article she had read at Jean's table. About to protest his insinuation, she suddenly and quite unexpectedly knew. Her eyes shot to the detective, who was leaning against the sill as casually as if he were deciding to go out for a walk.

_Jean and Rosalie—_how could she have not seen it before? They were the only ones wealthy enough to have offered such an amount and on such short notice. She remembered her conversation with Jean about treating Erik as a patient, as well as Rosalie's obsession with opera: it all made perfect sense! They had always been generous in supporting different charities, but never anonymously. Yet whatever their motivation, she knew in her heart that they would only want the best for Erik. And now the police had taken advantage of their generosity, as well as her own.

"You have gone too far, monsieur," she accused, "prying into the financial affairs of my friends. I would not be surprised to learn that your department had manipulated them into offering that reward—"

"The lack of cooperation by the citizenry made it necessary," he argued, "particularly in an investigation of this magnitude...but for accuracy's sake, the good doctor and his wife were not that reluctant to offer their support."

"I doubt that very much, seeing that you people hear only what you wish to hear, not to mention holding me against my will, denying me sleep and the right to return to my rooms at the Opera House!"

Aubin turned to face her, crossing his arms over his stomach. "It is imperative that we find out exactly where the truth lies—"

"You should be detaining the Buquet brothers instead of me! But no, you merely follow them home and watch them celebrate the spoils of their victories! Need I remind you of your department's failure to bring even my daughter's attackers to justice?"

He dropped his arms and approached her side. "Now that you mention your daughter, perhaps we will bring her in for questioning as well," he stated, "once you tell me where I might find her."

"As I told you before, she is with family—"

He leaned close. "Something tells me you and your 'family' know much more than you admit."

"Leave my daughter out of this," she warned. "She is young and innocent."

"I am not so sure about that," a voice called from the doorway. Inspector Leger stood there, his arms full with what looked like old files. "At least concerning the 'innocent' part."

"How _dare _you—" Louise protested, gripping the arms of her chair as Leger came toward the desk and dropped them onto its surface.

"I have been studying her case with greater attention," he stated, pulling out the chair to seat himself.

"Then perhaps you will finally arrest the Buquets for attacking her," she said tersely.

Leger nodded distractedly, glancing up at Aubin. "All in due time, and after I question her myself…I will need the address in order to contact her, Madame Giry."

"She was questioned nearly out of her mind!" Louise protested, leaning toward him. "Or did that escape your attention, Inspector?"

"I prefer to do my own questioning," he said calmly, opening the top file. "In fact I might ask you a few questions concerning her mysterious rescue, something which I believe received only scant attention in the previous investigations."

"You are correct about that!" she huffed, suddenly remembering that it was Erik who rescued her. Fearful that they would then connect Meg with his escape, she fitted a smug expression upon her face. "The man should truly be rewarded for saving her life—"

"Ah, so it was a man—"

"Of course it was, who else could carry her all the way back home?"

"Why did she not name him?" Leger pressed, his eyes holding hers. "To see that he was rewarded?"

"She was too distraught!" she lied. "But you are missing the point, which is why the police did nothing to prevent such an attack—"

"Was it not rather the fact that our phantom was the one who rescued her?" Leger asked pointedly, a tiny smile playing about his lips. "And that you both have been protecting him for years?"

Momentarily speechless, Louise swallowed, knowing she was finally caught. Telling herself that he would never suspect Meg of helping Erik escape, she slumped dramatically back into her chair. "I must give you credit, Inspector," she admitted, "you are more perceptive than most."

"I don't understand," Aubin said into the silence. "What does her case have to do with—"

"He did rescue her, as he did all the other young and defenseless," Louise admitted. It was no use denying their part in protecting Erik, especially now that the inspector seemed to have discovered that fact. "The managers only concerned themselves with their earnings, never the safety or well being of our staff! They even refused to fire Joseph Buquet despite his shocking behavior, so it was necessary to seek the aid of someone else. The Opera Ghost became our protector, and had it not been for him my daughter would have been raped!"

"She must be eternally grateful toward him," Leger prompted, looking suddenly energized. "If I may be so bold as to suggest it?"

"It is the Buquets you must hunt down, not _him_."

"They did not set fire to the Opera House," Leger stated, "nor kidnap Christine Daae."

Louise put a hand to her head, feeling suddenly so exhausted she was confused. If only these men would let her sleep, then she could think more clearly. "Christine teased him, led him on, then rejected him," she complained, shaking her head. "He was of course completely unfamiliar with such tactics—"

"Do you not blame him for burning down the Opera, and your own home?" Aubin asked incredulously.

"You don't understand—he was our protector and maestro!" she croaked, beginning to lose her voice. "He _was_ the opera! He took care of everything, and made it rise to greatness!"

"Through his reign of terror," Leger summarized, his expression clearly one of distaste.

"He is a genius, though at times he could be temperamental—"

"That, Madame, is putting it mildly—"

"There was no use fighting him, for no one could fault his judgment," she insisted.

"So of course you would cooperate with him," Leger stated, "and when he protected your daughter it was only natural to believe that you owed him—"

"Of course we did, we all owed him!" she defended. "Were it not for him the opera would have been closed down years ago, leaving us all out on the street!"

The answering silence spoke louder to her than any accusations either of them might have made, and she realized her error. She had unwittingly given herself away and knew in an instant that she must be very careful from this point onward.

"You can help us end this," Leger said quietly, drawing her attention back to him. As she stared at him he spread his hands in supplication. "The peace of all Paris rests upon your aid."

Frowning, she nodded curtly. "All right, I will help you but only upon the condition that he and my daughter will be protected from further harm."

"I guarantee it," Leger stated with a nod of his head.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, watching him pull out a new file.

"It is good that you have clarified your position, now that our phantom has confessed in writing," he said casually, pulling out a small stack of papers. Ignoring her gasp of surprise, he glanced up at Aubin. "And he is going to help us indict the Buquet brothers, in exchange for lighter sentencing from the judge—"

"But I thought there were no charges filed against him—"

"Everything has been arranged," Leger continued as if he had not heard her. "He will be returning to Paris, along with your daughter, under police escort. We have agreed that he will help us lure the brothers out into the open when they attempt to sell the opera herd on the black market. Their best opportunity is at the upcoming steeplechases."

Her eyes widened. "At the Grande Course des Haies d'Auteuil?"

He nodded. "Are you familiar with the event?"

"Yes, of course—it is one of our largest international events—"

"One which offers ample opportunity to move about anonymously through the crowds."

Worried not only for Erik's safety, but for Meg's, she got up and approached the inspector's desk. "Any my daughter?"

Leger frowned. "We need her help, and yours, to lure them out into the open. You are both easily recognizable—"

"No, please, you must not use her!" she protested. "She is too vulnerable—"

"You will be together at all times, surrounded by plain clothed police and gendarmes. Aside from that fact, it is the reward for his capture which will truly capture their attention. "

"But it's too dangerous—what if the mobs learn of his return? And should the Buquets capture him they will have a score to settle!"

"Madame, please!" Aubin interrupted, holding up a hand. "You must have faith: if not in us, then in his abilities to elude capture."

"It is his plan, Madame," Leger added, watching her carefully. "If you know him at all, you must know that he will not let that happen."

Somewhat reassured, she nodded. "Yes…he is very capable."

Leger tapped the file on his desk. "He has given us legal documentation detailing his experiences, part of which offers us valuable evidence against the Buquets. By doing so he has earned Judge Miller's favor and approval, both of which will translate into some amount of leniency."

"But Miller is the harshest judge of all—"

"He is also, if I have heard correctly, an opera connoisseur…"

Then she remembered having seen the judge the night of the fire, in his usual box seat at the opera. Of course, she realized, he had been there, and had no doubt witnessed Erik's unmasking. Yet could it be possible that Erik's suffering may have touched him in some way? It certainly had touched her heart, and the hearts of many in Paris. Since that night Erik had unwittingly prompted a tremendous group of supporters, all desiring his return.

"You and your daughter will pretend to have an interest in purchasing new horses for the opera, and be accompanied by your solicitor as financial agent named by the managers. By the way, he knows nothing of our plan, so please keep it that way."

"All right, but won't seeing my daughter back in Paris arouse their suspicions?"

"If they were the men who attacked your daughter they will remember how the phantom came to her rescue," Leger reasoned. "Seeing her should lead them to assume he is nearby."

"They know he is bold and unafraid, and decidedly protective of your daughter," Aubin added.

She had to admit that was the case. "So her presence is meant only to lure them into going after him, and the reward."

Aubin nodded. "Greed seems to be their greatest temptation."

"His plan is to reveal himself to them, but only after they have sold back the horses they stole."

"You are going to let them sell the horses?"

"Yes, but to an undercover gendarme who will be posing as a buyer on the black market."

"How clever."

"Our buyer has already sent out word of his interest in their particular breed," Leger informed her. "I am sure that by now they have heard and will make an appearance."

Louise studied him carefully, knowing she should trust him but deciding against telling him about her request that Erik marry Meg. It would have no bearing on their plan if he had not done so, yet she knew him too well to see him disregard her wishes. Furthermore, if he had married Meg they would not suffer the consequences of aiding his escape from Paris. No, she was confident that by now they were married, if only for the purpose of protecting them both.

"I suppose I must trust you," she said carefully, shifting her attention from Aubin to Leger.

"It would be in your best interests," the inspector advised. "If you do not, we shall have to charge you and your daughter as his accomplices."

"What? How can you—"

"And for keeping such information from us, thus hindering our investigation," Aubin warned.

Holding his accusing look, she wondered how they had discovered Meg's role, again thinking of her plea that Erik marry Meg. "All right, I will do as you ask," she agreed, turning to Leger again. "Now when can I see my daughter?"

_c. 2007 by Christine Levitt_


	26. Chapter 26 The Test

**_Chapter 26 The Test_**

Meg felt Erik's hand brush and clasp hers as they walked along the porch. Looking up at his profile as he spoke with Pieter, she felt her eyes drawn along the strong line of his jaw and the movement of his lips. Gripped by an urge to touch and kiss his cheek, she studied its smooth surface, noting the faint shadow of dark beard he had shaved off this morning. Secretly, she had wanted to watch him shave, but they had woken late and gotten ready in separate rooms. Now, as he kept her close to his side, she could smell the faint scent of his shaving soap, based in cinnamon and perhaps clove, yet decidedly masculine.

As if sensing her regard, he glanced down at her, his thumb absently brushing her hand in a faint caress. She smiled and nodded, and when he returned his attention to what Pieter was saying, she realized her attention had wandered again. It was all Erik's fault, she thought, suddenly aware that her interest in him now bordered on obsession. Whenever he pretended they were a normal couple, as he was doing now, his nearness and friendly touch affected her so powerfully it unsettled her. What would happen if they were to yield to their true feelings? What would it be like to really be his wife?

She looked away, feeling her color rise at that doubtful prospect. Arlene's interested gaze collided with hers, and Meg knew she had guessed the direction of her thoughts. But how?

"Perhaps when you both return, you will have more opportunity to explore a future here," Peter advised.

Arlene smiled knowingly, and Meg was sure her face was completely red. Thankfully the older woman took Pieter's arm and abruptly changed the subject.

"Enough business for now," she hinted, tugging her husband's arm. "We've spent so much of our time on the details of their departure we've hardly any day left!"

Pieter looked at her a moment, then up at the slant of the sun against a cloudy sky. "You're right—it's already mid afternoon and we've kept these two long enough."

"I've enjoyed it," Erik nodded, glancing down at Meg for her opinion.

Hearing a momentary pause in conversation, she pulled her eyes from the breadth of his chest and looked up. Then he put his arm around her shoulders, and without thinking she wound her arm around his back.

"It was a wonderful meal," she said brightly, focusing on Pieter. "And the cabin is perfect, with such a lovely view." To her horror, she realized too late that they had not seen the view in daylight, a fact of which they were all aware. Erik nodded.

"We rode along the ridge last night," he explained, covering her mistake.

"It was beautiful, with all that starlight," she added quickly.

"I wish there was some way we could repay you for all your kindness," he told them.

They slowed to stop at the front steps, turning at Ben's call from across the square. He was coming toward the house leading Prince and another stallion. Pieter raised his brows, looking expectantly at Erik.

"There is a way, if you accept the position I offered; then we would be the ones indebted to you."

Erik nodded. "I'll take it under consideration," Erik answered.

"Ben looks eager to be on his way," Meg stated, easing out from Erik's arm even though she wished he would stay with her. But he already looked uncomfortable from having sat so long while they lingered over their meals.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" he asked. "I'll try not to be too long."

"Please, go--don't worry about me," she answered, smiling up at him. "I want to help clean up and then check on my students."

"I think they've got something else planned," Arlene said, nodding toward the school. They all turned to see a line of students headed in their direction.

"What's this?" Meg asked, looking at her suspiciously. "Another surprise?"

"Just a little one," she admitted. "Gracie and her mom have their hearts set on giving you both a wedding gift--it's just a little performance meant to entertain you."

Erik stared at the group as they marched up the path and began to fan out before them. She took his arm and leaned into it, noting how he guarded his expression. Then she remembered him saying he didn't like surprises.

The children formed a small half circle before them, Gracie at the center. Behind them Ben slowed to a stop and stood at a distance to watch, the reins of both horses clamped in his hand. Meg stifled a laugh at his cut offs and boots, as well as the ragged old shirt he had tossed over his head. It was certainly hot enough for a swim, she thought longingly, and Erik had promised to teach her later on. The thought made the back of her neck tingle with sudden awareness.

"The deGraaf Ballet School wishes to present a special dance as a present to Mlle. Meg and Mon. Erik," Gracie announced, bowing her head before them. "Happy marriage!"

With that the children sprang into motion, singing and dancing to a popular folk tune about the springtime. Meg watched with fascinated delight, glancing up at Erik. A ghost of a smile played around his lips but he kept his attention on every detail. There were reels and leaps, laughs and even a few stumbles, but when it was over they all lined up and bowed in unison.

Erik raised both hands and shouted bravo, as did Arlene and Pieter. Meg rushed down the steps into their midst, hugging them and commenting on their performance. The children laughed and congratulated them in joyous confusion, but it was Gracie who marched up the steps and pulled Erik down to stand next to Meg.

"That was a delight!" Meg said, applauding them and smiling up at Erik as he came to her side. "How did you manage to find the time?"

"Arlene and Mamma helped us!" Gracie answered, her voice drowned out in all the excitement.

"Excellent—thank you—" Erik said in his deep voice.

Shouting in glee, they quickly surrounded them within a circle, earning a laugh from Ben as everyone watched them dance around the couple, thoroughly embarrassing them. This went on for a full minute, the circle shrinking, until Erik pulled Meg in front of him, loosely wrapping his arms around her from behind. She laughed, raising her hands to his arms. Then the chanting began.

"Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss Mlle. Giry! Kiss her! Kiss her!"

Meg leaned forward, keeping her grip on Erik's forearms. "It's Madame Destler, not Mlle." she corrected with a laugh. Suddenly the arms around her tightened and before she realized what was happening Erik turned her and pulled her up against his chest. Gasping and gripping him for balance, she stared up at him. His eyes were lit with a mixture of amusement and apology just before he bent his head and kissed her.

While cheers and shouts of glee erupted around them she received a kiss filled with joy, appreciation and longing. It took her breath away, but she kept her eyes closed as she clung to him, feeling her feet touch the ground as he lowered her gently back down. With legs weak from the power of his embrace, she felt the arm supporting her loosen as he planted a brief kiss in the center of her forehead.

"There—you have your kiss!" he announced, his voice vibrating in his chest so that she could feel it against hers. Slowly opening her eye, she gripped him as he turned her toward the porch.

"Pick her up! Pick her up!" the children demanded. Pieter called out his objection to the children but the amusement in his voice was evident. Ben finished cheering as Gracie's mother scolded her in a lecturing tone, yet again the squeals and pleas of the children were apparently too much for Erik. Without warning he lifted her and carried her in a circle as she laughed and gripped his shoulders. The children danced happily around them and to their delight he swung her round and round.

"Erik, your leg!" she protested on a laugh, winding her arms around his shoulders. His laughter mixed with theirs, that deep, rich sound that tickled her lungs and warmed her heart.

"It's fine," he soothed, smiling as he lowered her again but kept her in his arms. Struck by the importance of the moment, she slid one hand up the back of his neck and combed her fingers into his hair at the back of his collar. His smile faltered and his eyes darkened to forest green, and suddenly it seemed as if the world faded away, leaving only the two of them to gaze into each other's eyes.

"I knew you were funny, Mon. Erik," Gracie giggled, hiccoughing on a laugh. Her tug on his shirt broke the contact between them and he glanced down at her with a smile.

"Not just funny looking?" he quipped, easing his hold on Meg.

"No, but now we know you'll be happy together, once we made you laugh."

"You're absolutely right," Meg agreed, winding an arm around Erik's back as she glanced up at him. He met her look with his brows raised. "Laughing is very important, and thank you all for reminding us—and for working so hard on your performance."

"You've given us one of our best gifts," Erik added, eyeing each young face turned up to him. "Your talents are very promising."

"I'm sorry to interrupt but Mon. Erik and I must leave for his exercises," Ben announced, bringing the horses closer. "We have to make sure his leg gets even stronger for his trip."

"You're leaving?" Gracie cried, gripping Erik's hand tightly.

He nodded. "I must return to Paris—"

"Why? We thought you were going to live here!" she protested, glancing up at her mother as she put both hands on her shoulders

"Gracie, please—"

Erik bent toward her so that they were eye level. "I will try my best to return," he said gently, squeezing her hand before he straightened.

"I will do everything I can to see that he does," Meg promised, avoiding Erik's eyes. "We are leaving very early tomorrow morning but we want you to have a fun summer and keep practicing."

"Come, children," Gracie's mother said, steering her daughter toward the school. "Say good bye and wish them a safe journey."

"Good-bye, come back soon!" they called, and quickly their attention switched to forming a line to return to the school.

"We'll miss you!" Gracie added, turning to wave before she scampered off with her friends in a noisy and less than orderly departure.

Ben came up to Erik and held out Prince's reins. "That was quite a sendoff," he sighed. "Ready to go?"

Erik nodded, turning to Meg. "I'll be back later," he said for her ears only, his eyes unreadable. She squeezed his arm before crossing her own and stepping back.

"Erik, don't forget your package," Pieter called, coming toward him with a large envelope.

He turned in surprise. "I almost did," he answered, taking from Pieter and tucking it into the bag that hung from Prince's saddle. He turned to shake Pieter's hand. "Thank you for everything."

"Our pleasure," Pieter said, moving to stand next to Meg. "Don't leave this little lady waiting too long."

Erik mounted stiffly and settled himself with a nod. "Give us two hours," he said to both of them. Then he turned Prince and followed after Ben, who rode off at a canter as Meg and Pieter climbed the stairs to the porch. Going to Arlene's side, they watched until both riders disappeared around the bend in the road. Feeling surprisingly bereft, Meg heard Pieter tell Arlene that he would be in his office for the rest of the day before he walked away.

"Oh Meg," he called, turning and stopping at the entrance. "Be sure you both get a good night's sleep: we leave at seven in the morning."

"All right," she answered, forcing a smile she did not felt. The reminder of the journey back to Paris made her stomach tense. "We will meet you at the stables."

He nodded, his expression sobering. "Don't worry, Meg. Have faith."

She watched him walk off and go inside before Arlene gripped her arm. When their eyes met, she searched her expression. "I sense all is not well," she said quietly.

"What do you mean?" she answered, moving toward the screened door. "Nothing's wrong," she added, her voice catching on her words.

"Beneath the smiles and kisses you both look miserable."

"We're not!" she insisted, opening the door to the parlor. "Everything is fine—"

"You're not fine," Arlene insisted, closing the door behind her. "Your eyes follow his every move as if you haven't eaten in days and he's your next meal."

"Arlene!" she gasped, covering her mouth with one hand. She shook her head at the woman's boldness but couldn't deny it was true.

"I want to know what's going on, or rather what's not going on," Arlene demanded in a whisper. "And don't offer that pitiful excuse of a marriage of convenience!"

"It's hardly an excuse," she defended, "we agreed to it and that's what Erik wants—"

"He does not—anyone with eyes can see that!" Arlene nearly spat. "The way he looks at you," she gasped, fanning her face, "we can all feel the heat."

Meg turned toward the table and began to clear the remains of their meal. "I don't want to talk about it—it's wrong to gossip."

"It's not gossip if it can do some real good!"

"Talking doesn't seem to help," she sighed, pausing to meet Arlene's accusing gaze. "His future is so uncertain, Arlene; and he's only thinking of me—"

"Do you want him as your protector, or your husband?"

"My husband, of course!"

"Then you cannot afford to play games, Meg!"

She shook her head in confusion. "Erik doesn't play games."

"If you don't want to lose that man you had better do something to make sure he knows it, without leaving any room for doubt, and quickly."

"How can I?" she protested, "he insisted on the arrangement and as my husband he's my authority—"

"Mere words!" Arlene said, waving a hand in dismissal. "What do his eyes tell you when he looks at you, or touches you? That is where the truth lies, cherie! Those speak volumes of truth more powerfully than words."

Meg sat down in frustration, suddenly ashamed for insisting Erik act the part of the loving husband. "I agreed to the marriage of convenience with the condition that we act like a loving couple when in public," she admitted.

"That was no act," Arlene answered, pulling out a chair and sitting to face her. She took her hand and waited until she looked up. "Pieter and I have counseled many couples in our lifetime, some who were well into their marriages and facing serious problems. All marriages have misunderstandings which need to be cleared by truth and honesty."

"What are you saying, Arlene?"

"Could it be that your husband believes he has nothing to offer you, or that he is afraid you will change your mind about him once the pressures of daily living begin to interfere?"

She felt her eyes flood with tears and nodded. "That's exactly what he feels, deep inside, but I don't know how to convince him he's wrong."

"I believe you do, if you're brave enough," Arlene soothed, leaning back in her chair. "Pieter and I will be praying for you both, but you do so as well. And follow your heart," she advised. "I can see the love he has for you, but it's up to you to convince him that he's everything you could ever want in a man—"

"He is, but he's acting like a doomed man headed for his own demise!"

"How can he not, Meg?" Arlene answered. "That may be his future, but you have to ask yourself if he is worth having, even if only for a short time."

"I already know that he is!"

"Good, then this is the perfect time to show him how much you love him and want him, regardless of the future."

"You are advising me to break our agreement?"

"Of course I am—he really needs you, probably even more than you need him."

Meg studied her a moment, not completely convinced. "I don't know if he needs me," she stated. "He's so strong and capable, and he's always been self sufficient—"

"And completely alone his whole life!" Arlene said passionately. "What do you see in his eyes, Meg?"

She shivered just remembering the need and desire in his heated gaze. "He does seem to let down his guard with me."

"That man has a vulnerability which is screaming for acceptance, and if you concentrate on that you'll know what to do."

"I worry about rushing him, especially after Christine's betrayal and rejection. He was deeply hurt, and I'm not sure I've earned his trust yet."

"Don't dismiss that sharp analytical mind of his, just circumnavigate it," Arlene said with conviction. "Go by his heart and his emotions, not his thoughts, then you'll have the key to a happy marriage."

Meg stared at her with dawning awareness, sitting back in her chair and feeling a sense of awe at Arlene's plan. It just might work, but it would certainly be a challenge. "You know, I think you're right, Arlene."

"Of course I'm right," she grinned, standing and planting her hands on her hips. "Now help me clean up this mess so you can go after him."

Meg stood and glanced out the window, noting the waves of heat dancing in the sunlight. "They don't want me around—"

"Ben has to come back early to check a patient," Arlene said, eyeing the empty yard beyond the window. "You can catch Erik while he's swimming…I'll walk with you until we're sure he's alone, then you take it from there."

"And do what?"

"Let him know how much you want him! He'll be too tired to protest, after working out in this heat."

Meg smiled impishly. "He did promise me a swimming lesson."

Arlene laid a hand on her arm and squeezed. "Even better! Now hurry and help me get these things soaking so we can get to the lake on time."

_2007 by Christine Levitt _


	27. Chapter 27 The Swim Lesson

_**Chapter 27 The Swim Lesson**_

Erik flinched at Ben's barked command, snapping his attention back to his physical therapy. Outwardly obedient, he concentrated on their stretching and strengthening exercises but before long found his thoughts wandering again. He kept seeing Meg's face when he kissed her, her warmth and acceptance tempting him, threatening his resolve. He had tried and failed miserably at keeping his distance from her when she seemed to welcome his closeness and touch so readily. It did not help that everyone seemed to be working against him, even the children. Innocently demanding proof of his affection for Meg, he had given it and it had been his undoing. And it wasn't just the children; they were all doing it, he realized…watching and waiting, looking for confirmation of his love and commitment to her, the very things he must withhold, however difficult the task. He _had_ to.

"Enough, now switch to the other side," Ben ordered, releasing his ankle from a firm grip. "And go a little easier when you do."

"I thought you said I was favoring it too much," Erik countered, wincing at the vice like grip with which his hold imprisoned the ankle of his injured leg.

When Ben didn't answer but began to count the repetitions aloud, Erik began the next set with his mind already wandering back to his new wife. He only kept his distance in order to protect her from whatever ravages being married to him would bring. The first one demanded they travel back to Paris and face the authorities. What if he ended up in prison? What good would yielding to their love and passion do if they couldn't even be together? In the unlikely event that he might somehow be extended leniency, as Pieter believed, there was still the problem of his appearance forcing them both back into isolation. Worse, the strongest argument against a real marriage was the likelihood of passing on his deformity to their children, his biggest fear and regret. Yet to his immense frustration no one seemed to consider these probabilities, not even Louise, whose seriously delayed package Pieter had handed him only an hour before. The only enclosure he'd had time to examine in a moment of privacy was her note asking if he had indeed married her daughter.

_Of course I married Meg!_ his mind screamed in frustration. How could he not, when it was his fault she was living on the run and thinking she must help him? Beside that, what man wouldn't want to marry her? She was intelligent and desirable and for some inexplicable reason she wanted to build a life together, with him of all men! It could only be because she thought she owed him for rescuing her years before. It did seem, strangely enough, that she liked him as a friend, and trusted him. Yet her touch and her kiss seemed suspiciously beyond friendship—

"You're not concentrating," Ben warned, pushing Erik's leg back into his chest and holding it there. Feeling as if he might pass out from the pain he tried to pry his hands off, but Ben resisted. "Breathe in!" he ordered, his face lighting with satisfaction when he obeyed. His smug smile told Erik they both knew he was completely in his power if a fast recovery was to be achieved.

Clamping his jaw tighter, Erik gripped his knee to hold the position, nearly crying at Ben's slow countdown. Only a few more seconds, but they seemed to pass like hours.

"Now release!" he ordered, helping Erik slowly extend his leg once again. To his great embarrassment it shook like a leaf in the wind, and once he lowered his heel to the ground Ben sat back, frowning in disapproval. "If you don't concentrate you'll end up straining your muscles and making it worse."

"Fine!" Erik snapped in irritation, rubbing his aching leg as he turned to his side and gathered his nearly depleted reserve of patience. "Give me a moment to catch my breath."

"You've done enough today, given your condition," was the teasing complaint.

Erik looked over his shoulder at his instructor. "What _'condition'_?" he wanted to know.

Ben smiled broadly, pulling himself to his feet. "Why love struck, of course!" he chuckled, shaking his head.

Erik stared up at him as if he were insane. "I am not 'love struck'!" he protested, straightening to lean back on one hand.

"You are, quite badly I'm afraid, but Meg's condition is even worse."

"I was distracted!"

"I noticed."

"I _am_ concerned about the future—"

"Of course you are," Ben agreed unconvincingly.

"I'll do another round of exercises."

Ben waved a hand dismissively. "Just swim," he suggested, turning away. "If you can manage it."

Erik stared at his back as he pulled himself to a somewhat unsteady standing position. "I can manage perfectly well," he said under his breath, shifting his weight to the weaker leg. To his horror it nearly crumpled beneath him, forcing him to shift back onto his other leg.

Ben turned just in time to see him falter. "I'm sorry," he grimaced, "I should be more patient when you've got so much on your mind. But don't worry about tomorrow—Pieter and I are with you all the way."

Erik frowned into his hopeful look. "I'm counting on you to support _Meg_."

"And you as well," Ben insisted, pulling off his shirt. "We're family now, and we're going to work together, no matter what happens."

Erik watched him run and dive into the water, astounded at the meaning behind those words.

Meg crept along the densely overgrown bank, her eyes fixed on Erik as he swam. He cut a graceful, soundless path through the water, she thought, watching his powerfully muscled arms propel him at a speed which surprised her. With every fifth stroke he turned his head, apparently taking a quick breath before submerging his face again. Even in the oppressive, still air she barely heard the sound.

_I want to swim like that,_ she dreamed, admiring the smooth surface of the water and thinking it looked positively inviting. Sensing that it would be some time before Erik finished, she toyed with the idea of wading a bit just to cool off. Her hair clung to the back of her neck and perspiration dripped down her chest beneath the lightweight fabric of her dress. Removing her shoes and stockings had helped a little, but she was tempted to strip down to her chemise and plunge right in. But then Erik would hear her and discover her presence, which would force her to try to explain away the fact that she was spying on him. Then again, she could tell him the truth, as Arlene had encouraged her to do.

_I want to be with you, Erik...  
_  
They did have a lesson planned for later, she reasoned, telling herself she was just saving him the trouble of coming to fetch her. Stepping over a boulder as she followed his progress, she glanced back out over the surface of the lake and watched him turn again without pause. He had already completed ten circuits since she'd arrived, and she wondered how many there had been after she and Arlene had watched Ben ride past their hiding place along the road. If he didn't take a rest soon he would be too tired to teach her. Then another thought came to her as she crept along opposite him. Was he trying to tire himself out so that upon coming to bed he would fall immediately to sleep, thereby avoiding her?

_Maybe he's right to avoid me… _she thought, remembering how ridiculous she must have looked their first night together, wearing that heavy nightgown. Despite the heat in the cabin she had kept all her buttons fastened, hiding everything but her toes from him. At least until it was dark enough and he had given her permission to undo just a few in order to breathe.

Now, in defiance of her own rules, she yanked open her high collar and undid her bodice halfway, considered a new course under Arlene's directions. One quick glance in Erik's direction told her that he was turning again, this time coming closer to the shore. What would he do if she were to step out of hiding beneath the willows, dressed only in her chemise? Smiling to herself, she thought of their earlier conversation about throwing him off course. Given their early departure for Paris the next morning, it seemed her last chance before whatever fate would befall them. If he objected she would merely ask him how else would she be expected to dress for a swimming lesson?

_Admit it—you want him to see you in that chemise_, a voice whispered in her mind _...and you like the hunger in his eyes.  
_  
At the first stab of guilt she pushed it aside, nearly fully determined to deal with their problem once and for all. She couldn't stand it anymore, being near him yet sharing nothing more than a brief kiss, a fleeting touch or even falling asleep in his arms. Especially when she could see that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, though he was doing an admirable job of fighting it. She had come to love that fire in his eyes, though she knew he was not going to do anything about it beyond looking. Not until after his future was decided…or worse, maybe not ever.

Arlene was right, she decided. They needed each other, especially tonight. It could be their only night together, and she was convinced that it was up to her to do something about it.

Hearing a splash she looked up, surprised when she could see no sign of him. Moving aside the dense curtain of willow she stepped toward the water, searching for him. Loose soil shifted beneath her feet as she leaned farther out, intently studying the smooth surface where she had last seen him.

_Where was he?_

Just when she began to feel a sense of alarm his head popped above the surface at a distant point. He was facing away toward the ridge that rose beyond the lake, smoothing his hair back with one hand as he treaded water. There was no reason to worry about him, she reminded herself, he could take care of himself and the rest of the world, for that matter. If she didn't stop forgetting that fact and worrying about him, she would drive herself crazy. Obsessed…that was how she felt and acted. And for the first time she realized why he had behaved the way he did with Christine. As she stared longingly at him, she recognized in herself the same hopeless attraction and knew what it felt like to want something you could not have. Yet not for the first time, a stab of jealously knifed into her heart at the thought of them together. Forcing it away, she remembered that she had forgiven both of them. Christine, for only beginning to appreciate Erik's value, and Erik for settling for Christine's divided attentions. But passion was a powerful force to be dealt with, and it made one do things despite knowing they were unacceptable. She was already guilty of it herself, proposing to him, taking him to her room in the women's dormitory, even kissing him first. Her behavior had violated nearly every social rule she had been trained to uphold. Yet, when she thought about him and the look in his eyes, she clearly understood why.

He was swimming again, separating the distance between them as he continued his laps. Tucking up one side of her skirts by fastening the edges into her waistband, she followed alongside his circuit, breathing hard in the stifling heat. Perspiration dripped into her eyes and tickled down her spine. Erik swam a few more meters and turned back just as the bottom edge of the sun dipped below the ridge. Dark clouds were gathering overhead and as she watched him angling toward the shore ahead of her she realized he would be heading back to the parish to collect her. Hurrying toward the point where he seemed to be heading, she decided to stay hidden until he'd reached Prince and wherever he'd left his clothes. Once he had dressed she would approach him, pretending to have noticed him while out for a walk. The only problem with her story would be her muddy, wet hemline and the fact that she had left her shoes far behind. How could she have forgotten to take them with her?

He changed course suddenly, heading directly toward the place where she stood. Moving back under denser cover she took a step backward and felt the earth give way beneath her. Reaching up for a hold she clutched a tree limb but it broke off, making her lose her balance. And then she was sinking down into the dirt and hit the water with a loud splash. It closed around her hips, frightening her as she grabbed at the willows and sunk deeper. Kicking in search of a foothold, she sank to her waist and felt the bottom loosen and move away from her feet. Gasping and trying not to panic, she moved sideways and felt a rock. Shoving her foot deeper she curled her toes around its slippery surface, moving her arms to steady herself in the water. As her foot slid she found herself falling sideways and parted her lips to cry out just as a hand clamped over her mouth. Strong arms came around her as a muscular thigh grazed her hip. Stiffening at the intimate contact, she dug her fingers into the arm pressing over her breasts.

"I've caught a spy!" a deep voice vibrated into her ear as the hand left her mouth, uncovering her hoarse scream of surprise.

She was transported back in time to the night of her attack, when they had grabbed her from behind. Choking back her fear, she told herself that this was her husband, and he was only teasing her. Still, he was dragging her through the water and when she stretched her feet there was deep nothingness beneath them. The dark water swirled around her, sending her into another panic. Whirling on him, she threw her arms around his neck and clamped her legs around him, breaking his stroke as he gasped in surprise. She climbed up him, pushing him underwater without realizing it. He gripped her wrists and pushed her back, wrestling with her as she kicked her legs against the water. She felt his hands grip her waist before he turned her around and clamped under beneath one arm, the other stroking powerfully against the water. He regained control over her and dragged her toward the shoreline.

"Kick your legs," he shouted, gasping as he stroked with one arm. She obeyed immediately, rewarded with the loosening of his arm. She stretched out her free arm and pulled back the water, copying what he did with his free arm. After a moment he shifted her away, keeping a hand at her waist as she worked with him. Glancing at his stern profile, she copied him as best she could.

"Good," he said grimly, keeping his gaze ahead. "Do that again and you'll drown us both!"

Tears of remorse sprang to her eyes and she looked away, feeling her lungs burn just with stroking one arm. He towed her a few more meters until he eased his grip, taking her hand to his shoulder as he turned her to face him. When she transferred her other hand to his shoulder he nodded soberly, holding her by the waist as they kicked in a bicycling pattern.

"I'm sorry," she croaked, turning her head to stare at the water. It looked dark and menacing beneath the darkening skies and late afternoon sun.

"You can touch the bottom here, save for half a meter," he told her. "Now relax your hold before you leave your mark."

"But I'm afraid!" she protested, nevertheless spreading her fingers over the solid breadth of his shoulders. She could feel the churning of the waters around her legs from his expert movements.

"You're fine, just try to relax—I've got you."

She looked into his silvery gaze and nodded. "I'll try; do I keep bicycling my legs?"

"For now, but slower: I want you to lean back and try to float while I hold you."

She laughed nervously, sliding her hands over his upper arms. "I've never floated in my life—"

"After that I want you to stretch out on your stomach, but keep moving your legs like scissors," he lectured.

She kicked a few times, her dress tangling between her legs as she held onto him for dear life. "My skirts are in the way!"

"Pull them up."

She tried, twisting the fabric and quickly tucking it to her side. Looking up, she saw that he had moved to her side but when he took one hand from her waist she grabbed for his arm. He responded so quickly she didn't have time to sink. Sliding beneath her, he gripped her waist again and began to swim backward. She stared at him as his eyebrow shot up in challenge.

"How did you do that?"

He smiled wickedly. "Having no skirts helps."

Her ballooning dress floated up despite her efforts to shove it away. "I can't seem to do anything with them—"

"How about removing them?"

She stared into the fiery green of his eyes and tightened her grip on his arms. Surging backward with powerful kicks, he swam and let her float between his legs. The water surged against her and dragged at her dress, yet not one kick touched her legs or feet. He continued holding her gaze as he swam for both of them, his suggestion hanging between them like a dare. His brows shot up as he shifted her as easily as a rag doll, lifting her up as her feet touched bottom. She balanced against him in the shoulder deep water, studying his expression in mute silence.

"Well?" he prompted, glancing down between them before his gaze lifted back to hers. "I'm waiting."

Well aware of the clinging wet fabric of her sagging neckline, she raised her chin. "You can't be serious," she huffed in ladylike outrage.

"Ah, but I am," he said, leaning closer. "And I am the instructor," he whispered, his face very close to hers.

It occurred to her quite suddenly that he might not have anything on beneath the dark surface of the water, a thought which both shocked and intrigued her. Yet she took great care with her response, choosing to see how far he would go with his suggestion.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," she said primly, pretending to be affronted by his suggestion.

"How do you expect to learn how to swim, dressed in this manner?" he objected, voicing her own excuse for doing exactly that.

She tilted her head and studied his expression, gauging his intent. "You will really teach me? No teasing or games?"

The fire in his eyes banked somewhat, but his eyes dropped to her lips as if unwillingly. "I thought you liked teasing."

"Not this time," she admitted, pulling his gaze back to hers. "I am afraid of the water, Erik—really afraid."

He nodded soberly. "I realize that."

"I've covered up my fear under the pretense of being ladylike," she confessed, "until now."

"There is no need to fear," he said, placing one hand over his heart. Her eyes were drawn to the well formed sculpture of his chest, sprinkled with a sparse covering of dark hair. "You have my word," he vowed, glancing meaningfully at her ballooning skirts. "But I must insist upon one condition."

Automatically reaching behind her back to touch the fastening of her waistband, she watched his eyes lift suggestively to hers. Blushing under his interested gaze, she began to unfasten them, his intense regard making her both nervous and excited. Scandalized at the realization that she was in reality attempting to seduce her own husband, somehow the boldness in his gaze urged her on. Besides that, it was too late, she told herself as her fingers trembled with nervousness. Pasting a confident smile on her face, she watched his brows lift suggestively.

"Having second thoughts?" he whispered, his beautifully masculine lips curving toward a smile.

It was all she needed to throw caution to the winds, and with a huff of satisfaction she tugged her skirts free, dragging them through the water and holding them up like a trophy for his appreciation. His eyes lit with pleasure as she wound up her arm and flung them toward the overhanging branches. Keeping her eyes locked to his, she heard the wet thump of the fabric slap against the rocks and lie silent. He nodded in satisfaction, his gaze dropping to her drooping neckline. Though her color rose until she knew her cheeks must be red, she unfastened the bodice, watching his lips purse in restraint. When his eyes lifted to hers she saw a combination of desire and regret, but she flung away the top and settled both hands upon his shoulders. She felt his hands touch her waist and smiled into his tortured expression.

"I'm ready now," she announced regally.

He nodded. "Let's go."

With one hand at her waist he stroked out to the deeper water. Keeping one hand curled around his upper arm, she stroked with her free arm and when he stopped to tread water she turned to face him. It was the same spot they had tried before, and she knew that if she needed to she could touch the bottom. Gripping his shoulders, she felt his hands clamp around her waist.

"Lesson number one," he breathed, only a bit winded. "Never climb up onto the instructor in order to get out of the water."

She nodded. "I think we've already covered that one," she said with only a stab of guilt.

"Lesson number two: trust your instructor completely," he said, scooping her up into his arms as she squealed in surprise. Gripping his shoulder with one hand, she nevertheless stroked with her free arm. "Now pretend to lie upon the surface of the water," he said gently, catching her ankles with one hand and slowly coaxed her legs out until she lay stretched over his arm. Beneath her hips she could feel the support of his other arm as he kicked in place, keeping them both up. Clenching his shoulder, she turned her head to glance down at the water.

"Lesson number three: don't look down if you're afraid," he ordered. Her eyes shot to his as she forced herself to relax in his arms. "Good, now tilt your head back a bit more and look up at the sky."

This afforded her a glorious view of the heavens, where golden beams of light cut through the black clouds.

"Now give me your hand," he said gently, capturing it in his. She kicked but his arm lifted her hips before she began to sink. "Head back," he warned, "chin up, body straight—"

"Don't let go!" she gasped, feeling the arm beneath her move away.

"Try again."

It was harder than she had expected, relaxing in deep water, even with his support. After his patient instruction she ended up lying upon the surface with only his hand waiting below her elbow. Soon she was floating by herself, watching the clouds and reassured by his calm voice. They faced each other again until he had her treading water by herself, facing him. What followed were a few more instructions until she coordinated two simple strokes with the proper kicks. The sky darkened considerably, but neither of them mentioned it.

"Sweep your arm in a grand gesture," he suggested when her stroke faltered. "As if to descend the grand staircase to the ballroom."

She laughed. "Like this?" she hinted, arcing her arm to the side as she swam at his side.

"Yes, but keep your fingers together," he hinted. "Pull the water to the side, then behind."

"All right," she said, concentrating on coordinating her movements.

"Now try the frog kick again, with the breast stroke once again."

"I'm not sure I can get it right—"

"You are doing fine—just think of it as dancing in the water."

She followed all his instructions, eventually taking his advice and feeling rather than thinking of swimming. When she was confident he swam at her side, only touching her arm if she faltered or weakened. Though her chest hurt she began to glide through the water at his side, following the line of the shore as they turned back and forth. When she dared to glance at him, he smiled encouragingly. "Excellent," he finally stated, moving away. "Now try it on your own."

"Wait!" she gasped, forcing herself to keep moving as he steered a bit more toward the deeper water. To her surprise she stayed up as long as she concentrated. "Don't go away—"

"I'm right here," he chuckled, "though you no longer need me."

She stroked and turned, aware of his closeness. "Am I swimming?" she asked in disbelief.

"You are indeed."

She laughed, glancing toward him. "I'm swimming! Oh Erik—thank you! You taught me to swim!"

"You're very welcome," she heard him reply, his voice more sober, enough so that she glanced at him.

"What's wrong?"

"The rest will wait for another time," he said, "it's getting late."

They swam back to shore and when her feet touched the bottom she pulled herself up, glancing back at him as he followed her. As he came out of the water she saw that he was wearing the cut off pants he had used when he wore the heavy bandaging. Now they lay plastered to his muscular body, outlining his well toned, athletic body. Streaming with water, she smoothed back her hair, glancing at his injured thigh and deciding it looked much less swollen than before. But she said nothing, instead smiling up into his dark grey eyes.

"You did well," he sighed, pushing away a strand of hair that fell over his forehead. His gaze dropped to her clinging chemise and the hem that only brushed her kneecaps. Shyly pulling the fabric away from her curves, she noted how his expression darkened. As her heart sank at the change in his mood, she wondered what was wrong but could think of nothing.

His jaw tightened visibly as he planted his hands on his hips and stared at her. "Now," he breathed, "why don't you tell me what you were doing out here, all alone?"

_c. 2007 by Christine Levitt_


	28. Chapter 28 The Storm

**_Chapter 28 The Storm_**

"…tell me what you were doing out here, all alone."

Surprised at the anger in his tone, Meg crossed her arms over her chest in defense. "Going for a walk."

His gaze narrowed on hers. "You didn't plan on joining your brother and me for a swim?"

"Certainly not!" she objected. "Ben teases me mercilessly; he even threatened to throw me in the water to force me to sink or swim."

He took one step toward her, his expression suspicious. "You just decided to go for a walk…this far, and in this heat."

She spread her arms wide. "I've walked all over the parish before—it's completely safe."

He pursed his lips before answering. "You didn't come to watch us?"

"I needed to walk—to clear my head," she hedged. "Why should that concern you?"

"A walk…" he said, glancing away. She saw the nerve in his cheek jump before he swung his gaze back to her. "And during your 'walk' you just so happened to fall into the water."

"All right, I had another reason," she exclaimed, taking a step toward him. "The last time you swam with Ben he worked you to exhaustion, and it's even hotter today! I didn't want you to overdo it!"

His eyes flitted over her suspiciously. "You think me that weak?"

"No, but I know how Ben can be, and when left you swimming alone—"

"I don't need a keeper—"

"Neither do I!" she protested, planting her hands on her hips. "I too can come or go whenever and wherever I please!"

His eyes lit with a silver glint as he studied her in obvious fascination. "Why are you so angry?" he asked softly.

"Why are you?"

He sighed and shook his head, looking away. "I'm not angry," he admitted, "just frustrated."

She took two steps toward him, tilting her head back to look up at him. "You are not the only one, Erik!" she croaked, causing his head to swing back toward her. "I don't understand your moods, or the way you think or anything, and now it seems that I cannot interrupt you in order to find out!"

His expression took on a stony appearance. "I only left you behind for a few hours because I needed more therapy in order to recover faster—"

"I'm sorry—" she interrupted, feeling suddenly childish and selfish. Lifting a hand to rub her temple, she shook her head. "Of course your recovery is more important," she stated, twisting her fingers together as she searched for the right words. But she could not look him in the eye. "It's just that I—"

"Missed me?"

Her eyes lifted to his and she stared at him, well aware of the boundary over their marriage which he had placed. If he preferred no intimacy, why did he continually press those limits? 

"I'm sorry I didn't wait for you to return," she stated, changing the subject. "I was just worried about you—"

"You did miss me."

"—but never for one moment have I ever thought of you as weak."

He studied her a moment, finally expelling a tense breath. "Apology accepted—just remember: no one likes being followed or spied upon."

She looked up. "You followed me the night I was attacked—"

"You followed me through the tunnels—"

"Yes I did!" she huffed, crossing her arms. "I had good reason and I'm not sorry I did!"

"Well then," he breathed, his eyes running down her diminutive form, "if you are determined to continue with such devious ways I prefer you take someone along with you."

"Why, because I'm weak? And whom, by the way, would you suggest?"

He frowned and she secretly rejoiced to have caught him in a moment of indecision. "Anyone, just don't go throughout the deserted countryside on your own," he advised, raising a finger toward her. "And don't make excuses for the real reason you came here."

She tilted her head, studying him closely. "I think you actually _like_ the idea of me following you…if I bring along an escort it would be less effective and spoil the intrigue—"

"Intrigue?" he laughed, "watching me shed my clothing and go for a swim?" he prodded, taking a step closer. "What if I swam wearing nothing at all?"

She lifted her chin despite the emotion shaking her inner core. "You did the very same thing, even stealing people's clothes while they swam!"

He smiled dangerously. "I came upon them by accident—what's your excuse, you just so happened to pass by on your _walk_?"

"I might have joined you if Ben wouldn't tease me so much!"

"But Ben left, didn't he?"

"I—he—well anyway one should never swim alone—" she said, backing away from his advance. Something caught her heel and she lost her balance, falling backward with a surprised gasp.

He lunged toward her, catching her in his arms. "One shouldn't walk backwards—" he smiled triumphantly, pressing her close.

She struggled and pushed against his chest. "Let me go!"

He laughed softly, tightening his grip. "Not until I hear the truth—"

"I told you the truth!"

"The whole truth."

"I don't have to obey your every command!"

Her struggles seemed to amuse him, making her angrier. She tried to pull free, wrestling with him. Finally she went still, glaring up at him. Her expression clearly startled him, and she knew she had successfully outwitted him. Yet when she thought of how ridiculous they must look and sound, she burst into hysterics, turning her hands inward to grip his waist. Shaking with choked laughter, she pulled back, keeping her hold on his waistband.

"You win—" she declared with a hiccough of a laugh. "I am powerless against your—superior strength!"

His eyes ran over her face, as if seeing her for the first time. The corner of his mouth turned up as he straightened, looking down at her with a doubtful expression. "Not much of a spy, are you?"

"I guess not," she laughed, "perhaps I could use some strength training."

"Spies have no sense of humor, Meg."

"Neither do they confess."

"Neither do they ever come out of hiding."

"That was an accident, and I admit I'm much too clumsy—"

"You're much too alluring," he said softly, holding her loosely in his embrace, "so much so that I haven't the strength to resist you."

Held prisoner by his eyes, she stared into the myriad of emotions swirling in their depths, warding off and beckoning at the same time. "I did spy on you," she admitted, curling her hands around his forearms. "I followed you and I waited, even long after Ben rode off…I watched you while you swam...I could not seem to help myself."

His eyes lit with green-gold fire. "How lonely," he whispered, shifting his gaze to her lips and back. "You might consider more interesting ways of occupying your time…"

She held his gaze, wondering about the innuendo of his words as she listened to his soft but labored breathing. It was as if he wrestled something he could not best, and had never encountered such a threat before. His lips parted slightly and he swallowed with some effort. She thought she had never seen anything as sensuous or inviting as the masculine beauty of his mouth. Slowly easing her grip on his arms, she transferred her fingertips over his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart and watching his expression twist with pain. As he began to turn his head she rose to her toes and pressed her lips to his. He froze in shock as she shifted her hands to his cheeks and kissed him. His wide eyed stare was not encouraging but she prevailed, pressing herself against him. When his arms lifted to encircle her she felt like shouting in triumph. When she felt him begin to relax and soften his lips she sighed his name against them, and then everything changed.

Clutching her tightly he bent his head and gave her what she wanted, kissing her with such desperation it took her breath away. His lips were urgent and hungry, and he cupped the back of her head to hold her to him. She moaned beneath the sensuous power of his kiss, gripping his shoulders and giving herself up to the passion burning between them. His arm held her in an iron like grip as he moved backward, planting his back against the tree which spread its covering over them. Tilting his head to one side he teased her with hesitant kisses, pulling back to study her expression as he did so.

"Erik," she whispered, combing her hands into his damp hair as she focused on his lips.

"Shhh," he breathed, molding his lips to hers as he spread one hand down her cheek and along her neck, his thumb gently resting upon the pulse at the base of her throat. Feeling weak in the knees she sagged against him, gripping him more tightly then when she feared drowning. He coaxed her head back to trail brief kisses beneath her jaw and toward her ear. His breath tickled her ear as he kissed her lobe, making her shriek with the sweet torture. He chuckled and toyed with her ticklish spot as she squirmed against him. Groaning and stiffening, he gripped her arms and lifted his head. His eyes were more stunning than she had ever witnessed, and she recognized that he had limits to their passion. Limits she wanted to erase, but which she read were more than he could bear. He pursed his lips and dropped his head back against the tree, staring at her in amazement.

"You amaze me," he whispered, barely shaking his head in wonder. His hand lifted to her cheek in a soft caress, and she turned her face into his palm to kiss it.

"Why?" she wanted to know as she looked up at him, lightly trailing her hand over the taut muscles of his chest. His eyes darkened as he clasped it in his, closing his eyes.

"I need you, Erik," she confessed, leaning her forehead against his chest and winding her arms around him. Along his back she could feel the raised scars that testified to the suffering he had endured, softly caressing them as if to erase the memory of their pain.

He cradled her against his chest and she felt his head drop to her shoulder. A great sigh wrestled free from him and she tightened her arms around him. "Not as much as I need you," he said softly, turning his face against her neck despite her shiver of delight. "But I don't know what to do about it."

"I think you do," she choked, her eyes filling with tears. "It doesn't matter to me whether we have a future or not, as long as we can be together like this."

"God," he choked, gripping her so tightly she fought to breathe, "how on earth could I have managed to somehow earn even a glance from you?"

"I've asked myself the same question," she said hoarsely, pulling away from him only enough to breathe. His eyes knit close as he studied her pained expression.

She laughed and rose up to kiss his lips. "Your grip was so tight I couldn't breathe," she explained, reaching for his hands and clasping them between hers.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, "it appears I don't know my own strength."

She guided his arms back around her and pressed against him, kissing the side of his neck. "Please, Erik," she whispered, "change our agreement?"

He kissed her tenderly and straightened, guiding her away from the tree. "I shall have to if you keep tempting me," he said half jokingly, shaking his head as he guided her toward her discarded skirts.

"I can't help it," she admitted, clutching his arm with both hands and tugging him back into her arms. She looked up into his bemused expression. "I love—"

"Don't," he whispered, placing a fingertip over her lips as he slowly eased himself from her embrace.

She let him, aware of the importance of his authority in their marriage. In this matter he had to be the one to decide, though she wanted to scream at him to change his mind and give in. But she held her tongue, watching him carefully. He had made this condition on their marriage; he had to be the one to change it.

Tracing his fingers down her arm, he laced his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand. Together they gathered up her things and she led him to the place where she had left her shoes. By the time they reached Prince he was bobbing his head nervously. Patting his neck and speaking soothingly to the horse, he turned his gaze upon Meg. His eyes were filled with a mixture of desire and regret as he nodded toward the water.

"A storm is coming," he said, pursing his lips before he turned away to untie the reins. 

It was true, she realized. The light had darkened to an eerie yellow, the air held its breath. Erik pulled on his shirt but did not close it. He quickly placed and fastened the saddle, then mounted stiffly. She took his hand and climbed up before him, riding sidesaddle in her short chemise. When he curled one arm around her waist she held it in place with both hands, leaning unashamedly against is chest.

They climbed the back to the old goat trail and started up the mountain as a streak of lightning flashed from sky to ridge. Following this was an ominous roll of thunder as they threaded upward through the trees. The storm gathered overhead and Erik tightened his arm around her waist. Then the rain burst from the clouds.

The air cooled quickly as icy drops sliced into their skin with stinging bursts of patterns. Erik steered them through the denser forest as it began to pour furiously. The overarching trees shielded them until they leveled off, and then the cabin came into view. Skirted the ridge and shooting out from the trees, they sped toward the porch and drew to an abrupt halt. Soaked and shivering, Meg gripped his arm as he lowered her onto the porch. Hail pelted his back and danced crazily over the roof and onto the wooden flooring. Hugging herself, she watched him ride into the tiny stable and slid from the saddle. Backing up to lean against the door, she shivered as she stood waiting for him to come out. When he finally leapt up onto the porch she turned and opened the door, ignoring his protest for waiting for him.

Once inside they held each other a moment, listening to the crashing thunder and feeling it shake the floor beneath their feet. Hail rattled against the roof and windows and the wind howled eerily, slashing curtains of rain against the cabin. Inside it was warm from the heat of the day and eventually they stopped shivering. Erik eased her away and looked down at her, his arms still around her.

"Go ahead and change," he ordered softly, his eyes running down her soaked chemise. "I'll make some tea."

She tugged at the neck of his shirt until he grimaced and pulled it off, letting her take it with her into the bedroom. At the door she turned and stared at him, loving the wild look in his eyes and the black wet waves of his hair that lay plastered against his forehead and temples. His jaw tightened as he nodded to her and turned toward the kitchen. She stepped inside the bedroom and closed the door, leaning back against it and smiling as she prayed a prayer of thanksgiving.

"Thank you, Lord," she whispered, deciding that she would not be disappointed but patient with her new husband. Somehow she still had hope that no matter what the obstacles between them were, together they would with God's help pull them all down for good.

c. 2007 by Christine Levitt


	29. Chapter 29 A Voice in the Night

_**Chapter 29 A Voice in the Night**_

Meg smoothed her hands down the linen shift, telling herself it wasn't _that_ inappropriate a choice of clothing. Though the weather had changed outside the air in the cabin was still quite warm and this was the only thing available except for her winter nightgown. Her dress was still wet from the lake and everything else was already packed for their trip. Although they had yet to have whatever could be gathered for dinner, it was not that long before bedtime, so why not be comfortable?

_Cooking dinner in your petticoat…for comfort, or for temptation?_

"I can tempt him if I wish," she whispered, arguing with the voice of Miss Prim and Proper as she started braiding her damp hair. "He is my husband, after all!"

_Husband…_one word which set her mind adrift again. She sighed dreamily, remembering the way he had kissed her at the lake. Really kissed her for the fist time. Although Erik was not yet her husband in the fullest sense of the word, he had started down that path and she wanted more. Dropping her long braid down over one side of her shift she plucked at its drooping neckline and decide it was the perfect thing to wear. And maybe it would help coax Erik a little further along that path, she thought with a smile.

_He'll pull away again, Meg; you cannot win this fight until he's ready…_

She remembered the stiff set of his shoulders and tight line of his lips when he had had enough and sighed in partial resignation. Glancing down at the side split that began just above her knee she reconsidered the shift's low neckline and compromised. A little modesty would not hurt, she thought, moving to the wardrobe for a shawl. It would not be ladylike to expose too much, she decided, sifting through the contents of the drawers as she tossed aside the wintry clothing. Suddenly her fingers brushed against a foreign object and upon digging deeper she uncovered a flat package. Gently lifting it out, she stared at it a moment, finally realizing by its size and shape what it was.

"Arlene!—how did you manage to hide this here?" she whispered to herself as she clutched it beneath one arm and pulled out a lightweight shawl. Sailing it over one shoulder she went to the door and pulled it open, finding herself face to face with Erik. He stood at the threshold with one hand raised as if to knock. As they stared at each other he slowly lowered his hand, his eyes shifting to her half bared shoulder from which both shawl and shift had slipped down. Shrugging that shoulder and disregarding his mildly scandalized expression, she smiled brightly.

"I'm ready—"

"Dinner is served—"

She bit her lower lip as he pursed his and took one step back, bowing slightly and sweeping his arm aside. Dipping into a slight curtsy she passed before him and went toward the table with gradually slowing steps. It was already set for two, complete with a small candelabra which cast a romantic glow to the cold meal waiting for them. Resting a hand upon the chair she studied the small bowl of greens, plate of cheese and crackers, small platter of poached salmon and glass bowl of fresh berries. Two glasses of white wine were already poured, and she turned to shone at him in wonder.

"How on earth could you make din—"

"Someone left it in the icebox," he interrupted, coming toward her. He stopped behind the other chair, resting his large hands upon the back. "I merely set it out for us."

"Arlene," she stated, drawing the package from beneath her arm and extending it to him. "She delivered this as well."

He lifted a hand but hesitated, his expression doubtful. "For me?"

She nodded. "It's the gift I told you about."

"You have already given me two gifts."

"This is the most important one, though together they cannot compare to mine," she declared, lifting her ring toward him as if to remind him.

He frowned. "It is not meant to be a competition."

"I know but when I saw it I simply knew you must have it," she smiled, nudging it toward him.

He accepted it and held it aloft as she moved behind him to pull out his chair. Throwing her a cautious look, he slowly sat down, resting the parcel upon his lap. She grabbed her chair and pulled it out, sitting and facing him as she watched eagerly as he began to unwrap it.

"It's fragile," she warned as he parted the paper and began to unfold the layers of protective tissue.

His eyes lifted to hers as his lips half turned up into a smile. When he spread aside the papers he rested his fingertips along he frame, staring at her gift in silence. She followed his gaze over the miniature stained glass replica of Arlene's window. Erik looked up suddenly, his expression tender.

"Where did you get this?" he whispered, his eyes traveling slowly over her features.

She smiled joyfully, shifting her chair closer and resting a hand upon his knee. He stared at her bold gesture momentarily but lifted the glass so that the candlelight glowed through its vibrant colors and carefully executed designs. "It's beautiful…"

"It's the Tree of Life, from the garden of Eden," she explained, noting the golden trail of light behind the doves flying toward a pink and lavender sunset. "Arlene has a small gallery in the village where she sells her work."

Together they studied it until Erik placed it back into the wrapping and leaned toward her, lifting his fingers to gently caress her cheek. "It's perfect," he whispered, "remarkable…"

_Like you…_ his eyes told her as they held hers. She took his hand between hers and held it.

"It was the nearest match I could find to the one in the foyer."

He stared back down at the glass. "It is nearly identical," he agreed.

"She told me how much you liked the one outside Pieter's office," she added.

"…I would like to explain why," he said softly and without looking up.

Meg held her breath, sensing the importance of what he was about to say. Arlene had tried to relate that moment when she had come upon Erik as he had sat transfixed, staring up at the window as he sat before it in his wheelchair.

"I had a dream, or a vision as Pieter insists," he began, slowly tracing one finger across the surface of the glass. It bothered her that he did not look up but she listened carefully to every detail of his experience while he lay near death for so many days at their arrival. She had recognized its threat and had prayed while he clung to life, and now that he offered her a glimpse inside his soul she heard him explain how during that time he had been changed by his encounter with the heavenly realm. He told her about the man-God he had seen, and that he had offered himself in a life of service. Her throat choked with emotion as she listened, and when he finally looked up he seemed relieved to have shared it with her. His expression was filled with peace and he smiled as he stretched back in his chair. She released his hand and touched his forearm as he reached to set the glass upon the opposite side of the table. In profile his deformed cheek looked suddenly different, as if somehow it had smoothed out even more. But how could that be? she wondered.

"When I saw that window," he sighed, turning back toward her, "it was so similar to everything I had seen and felt during that time, as if Arlene had visited that same place."

"You actually saw Him," she said softly, "in your vision."

He nodded. "When I awoke and read His description in the Scriptures, it confirmed every detail."

She sat back with a sigh of pleasure. "I am so happy for you, Erik."

"Have you had a similar experience?" he asked her, reaching for her hand again.

She shrugged. "I hear His voice from time to time, like a whisper almost. But your experience, Erik…it must be that you have a calling upon your life, to have experienced such a thing."

"I doubt that," he said with a slight shake of his head. "Just a greater need."

"Or both."

He studies her expression a moment, as if trying to decide something. Then he squeezed her hand. "The package which Pieter handed me earlier…it was from your mother, dated some time ago but delivered to him only this morning."

"Mother wrote you again?"

He nodded toward the hearth. "It's over by the sofa, if you'd like to read it."

She got up and adjusted her shawl around her shoulders, moving to fetch his mail. When she sat down next to him and pulled out the note and flyer, she read them with growing alarm.

"How could they do this without your permission?" she railed, shaking the flyer in anger. "And poor Maman, left to manage everything all alone!"

He raised a hand to the back of his neck and massaged it, and without being able to help it she pictured herself doing that someday. "Apparently _Don Juan_ will threaten the stages of Europe enough to raise funds to repair the damages I caused," he said with a sigh of frustration. "Worse, they plan a grand reopening in the autumn, the full performance premiering once again."

She met his worried gaze, desperate to think of a way to help him. But nothing came to mind. "I'm so sorry…"

He slumped backward, raising his arms as if to stretch his sore muscles. "I would fight it through a legal battle if there was any other way to pay for what I've done…I suppose it is the least I can do, though I would rather burn all copies of the score to prevent it."

"But Erik, _Don Juan_ is a masterpiece!" she objected. "Your first opera—"

"It's a horrible, twisted disgrace!"

Shocked at the vehemence of his response, she held her tongue and looked into his tortured expression.

"Don't you see?" he breathed, "it expresses all the anger and evil I held inside—"

"But you've changed, Erik—"

"No, I've been changed," he shot back. "There's a tremendous difference between the two."

When he put a hand on her arm and squeezed it gently, she nodded, placing her hand over his. "You're right, I've experienced the same thing, though not quite as dramatically."

"Then you must understand why I cannot bear the thought of that opera—that 'music'—ever being heard again. It reminds me of who I could be, were it not for the grace of God."

"Maybe you should fight for your rights as composer."

"I doubt even that would keep Mons. Andre and Firmin from finding a way to capitalize on it."

"Perhaps you could change it somehow, especially the ending—make it into something more redeeming?"

He stared at her a moment, obviously considering it. "What do you have in mind?"

Thinking quickly, she squeezed his arm. "You could write an epilogue, something like the 'moral of the story.' It could be very powerful if done properly, and it would even benefit others if they could learn from your example."

"That's ingenious!" he said, his eyes lit with interest. "Perhaps add another act?"

"Yes, exactly."

"As a means to decry what came before…"

"You might ask Pieter for his advice—"

"You're brilliant," he declared softly, raising her hand to kiss it. "And I will ask him."

Much to her embarrassment she felt her color rise; no one had ever called her 'brilliant' before. "Pieter has always encouraged people to share their experiences, particularly if they might help steer others in the right direction."

He tiled his head to one side, eyeing her with frank interest. "Or throw them completely off course?"

She gazed back into his heated stare, realizing his intent to compare this with their previous discussion. Her heart began to race, for she saw the twinkling amusement in his eyes. Was he in fact glad that she had thrown him off course, enough so to marry her? Though she was tempted to get him to admit it, she chose to stay on subject, at least for the moment.

"This is entirely different, and you know it."

"Not entirely."

"It was just a suggestion…"

He released her hand and turned his chair toward the table, holding her eyes. "I have another suggestion," he said, nodding toward the table. "Let's eat."

Erik eased himself from her embrace, gently lifting her hand from his bare chest. She sighed softly as he slowly transferred it to her pillow, snuggling her face into its softness and sliding her arm beneath it. When she settled back into a deeper sleep he sat up slowly, leaning back on his hand to study her.

The bare curve of her shoulder looked soft and alluring where her shift had slipped down. The neckline gaped low, revealing the soft suggestion of her curves beneath, causing a hot stab of desire to knife through him at the sight. Quickly turning away, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, careful not to wake her. Moving very slowly and carefully, he turned and planted his feet upon the floor, jabbing his elbows onto his knees and dropping his head into his hands. His chest heaved silently as he attempted to cool his burning desire, once again wrestling against the tremendous urge to fall back into her embrace and lose himself in her comfort. After several long and tortuous minutes he straightened and rose to his feet, reached for his shirt on the way out of the room. All it would take would be one backward glance and he would be lost, falling victim to his selfish desire to put an end to their marriage of convenience. He knew that she would be the last one to uphold his decision, should he change his mind. In fact, it was what she was waiting for. At least _she_ was honest about it.

He padded barefoot past the cleared table where the lantern burned low to stave off her fear of the dark. At the door he turned, staring at his homey glow as he pulled on his shirt. Though she might have once had good reason to fear, it had been a few years since the attack, yet her childlike insistence on this habit remained. As he gazed toward the dim outline of her sleeping form he realized how childlike she was in other ways. Afraid of the dark, teasing and playing games with him, insisting she wash the dishes because he had 'cooked'. There was an impish side of her he doubted few others saw, except perhaps for Ben. Surely Louise saw little of it, being the strict disciplinarian that she was. In fact, he wondered if anyone knew Meg in quite the same way that he did. The thought gave him a great deal of pleasure, and he smiled as he went to the window and looked out.

She had a particular fondness for throwing things, he had discovered, evidenced after he thought he had talked her into letting him dry the dishes to help her. She had agreed after a somewhat prolonged discussion, yet at the first turn of his back a dishtowel slapped the back of his neck and her laughter had only added to the insult. Retaliation had been necessary, so he'd turned and wound her shawl around her shoulders and head as she screamed and laughed, pulling at his arms. Now, eyeing the clear moonlit landscape, he chuckled as he remembered her verbally denouncing his lack of respect for such a well bred lady of her caliber. Duly chastised, he had helped her untangle herself and it seemed that all was well, but then she'd splashed him and wet the front of his shirt just to tease him. Her punishment had involved being trapped in his arms as he backed her up to the sink and held her prisoner, at which point she had abruptly ended all teasing with a fierce storm of passion, winding herself around him and kissing him passionately.

Grabbing the handle of the door he pulled it open and quickly exited the cabin, drawing deeply from the cool night air and hoping to cool his own passion. One kiss at the lake had changed everything, and he sensed there would be no turning back. He realized how completely he had underestimated the power of a kiss, never imagining how addictive and drugging its nature could be. Not even the few kisses he had shared with Christine could equal the barest touch of Meg's lips. He knew he should have kept his distance from her, offered her his name and protection until he could help the police arrest the Buquets. But she had crept under his skin and now burned her passion into his blood and he knew that her love and desire for him had irrevocably changed him.

Rubbing his sore neck, he sat down on the top step of the porch, slumping back against the post to gaze up at the sky. Its black canopy glittered with innumerable stars, mocking him with their calm joy. He sighed deeply and began whispering his own particular manner of what might be labeled prayer. He preferred to consider it as conversation, yet he knew he wasn't talking to himself. The silent peace which often accompanied it indicated he was no longer alone. And as he thought about his feelings for his little wife, he whispered through all his concerns until he felt purged from his worries.

"I haven't the strength," he concluded with a sigh, closing his eyes but still seeing the passion in hers. "I love her too much."

The quiet around him seemed to grow louder, as if a protest sounded all around him. Shivering at the slight breeze sweeping over the wildflowers and grasses, he pulled his shirt closer and began to fasten it. All the while he pictured her pulling it from the back of his trousers, forcing himself to consider the progression of events which had led to that unexpected conclusion only a few hours before.

With their empty plates still littering the table they had pulled out a Bible and engaged in an hour long reading and discussion during which he realized how sharp her mind was. She knew far more sections than he, and from many different books than those he had explored, thus placing him at a disadvantage. She did not pride herself on this, but explained that she had found new life in its pages earlier than he had. Questioning him carefully, she had gotten him to confess to having read through more than half its contents, something she was still attempting to do. During their conversation they had covered many topics, finding that their interests lay along the same subjects. He had wanted to continue but they had an early morning departure and he needed to bed down Prince for the night. Upon his return they cleared the dishes and somehow ended up wet and clinging to each other despite his plan to keep apart. She had proven amazingly strong, her boldness surprising and exciting him at the same time. He could still feel her hands upon him, her fingers pulling at the back of his pants and shoving beneath his shirt to caress his back. It had taken all his strength to resist doing the same thing to her, as well as grasping her hands in his to get her to stop. Somehow he had managed, but just barely.

With a groan of frustration he shook his head at the beautiful sky. How could he continue in this manner? Tomorrow they returned to face God only knew what, yet she had no desire but to explore the subject of intimacy by experimentation. He sensed she had made this a priority, and he was running out of arguments against her desire. What was he to do to fight her? Or should he give in and take what little promise of joy and pleasure she so willingly extended to him?

The answer had to be in the book that had so recently become his manual for life. His hunger for it surprised and concerned him, though Pieter insisted it was the norm for someone in his newfound position. He tried to remember what he had read recently about marriage, but it had unfortunately centered upon the Song of Solomon. Hanging his head in frustration, he decided against meditating upon what had proven to be a sensuous account of lovemaking. Squeezing his eyes shut, he confessed his weakness even while reading his Bible. Everywhere he turned he was trapped by the allure of wedded bliss. Even this cabin, which Meg told him Arlene had labeled 'the honeymoon cabin' had its own special allure.

The longer he sat, though, the more the soft sounds of night enveloped him, soothing him. The treetops stirred gently beyond the muted chirp of insects in the grass. He looked up, surprised by the tiny glints of light that danced throughout the surrounding meadow. Fireflies… like stars upon the earth. He studied their movements for a while, his eyelids lowering as he grew drowsy. His head touched the back of the wooden post and he sighed contentedly.

_I made all of this, for you… _

Erik opened his eyes at the whisper, like a breath of a breeze. Straightening, he looked around but saw no one. Yet he was sure he had heard someone. Heart pounding, he gripped the edge of the stair, suddenly remembering the account of Samuel, the boy who had grown up in the tabernacle. The boy who had a relationship with an unseen Lord, and who had grown into one of Israel's greatest prophets. Could he be experiencing the same thing only on a much smaller scale? After a moment's consideration, he decided to test it in the same manner Samuel had, repeating the words the high priest Eli had instructed him to say. 

"Speak, Lord," Erik whispered, "for your servant heareth."

_I made all of this for you…_

Stunned, he knew he was not dreaming, or having another vision. How could he be, when he was now wide awake and alert?

_I made it to show you my nature…  
_  
Erik looked up at the stars, his thoughts shifting to the patriarch Abraham, who had also heard the voice…so shall thy seed be…

Abraham had been childless, but God had other plans.

"I don't understand," Erik whispered.

_I desire godly offspring…_

His throat clenching with emotion, he shook his head despite the hope which leapt deep within his heart.

_I am the Lord your healer…_

"Yes, you are, but—"

_Do not be afraid to take unto you thy wife… _

"Erik?" a sleepy voice said behind him. 

_You promised before me, and before witnesses… _

She came up behind him, her hand touching his shoulder. He wiped the tear which had spilled from his eye as she sat down at his side. He saw her arm move to pull her shawl closer. 

"Are you all right?" she whispered.

He turned his head toward and nodded. "I am now."

She yawned softly and rested her head on his shoulder. "Did the Lord wake you up?"

He looked away. "Not exactly…"

She reached for his hand. "But He spoke to you, didn't He?"

He swallowed. "Yes, he did…"

As the silence lengthened, she laughed softly. "Sometimes I think I need a pry bar to get anything out of that head of yours."

He lifted his arm and scooped her beneath it, holding her against his side. She braced her arms around his waist, leaning into him. Kissing the top of her head, he looked up at the spectacular view before them.

"He told me that He made all of this for me…for mankind, to be exact," he told her. "To show His nature."

She tightened her grip. "That's wonderful…"

"He's right."

"Look—there's a shooting star!" she breathed, pointing. He followed the direction she indicated but saw nothing. Suddenly an arc of light sped toward the horizon, vanishing in a moment.

"You can see showers of them with the telescope," she said, her voice colored with wonder.

"That is the first one I've seen."

They watched in anticipation, but saw nothing more.

"I still can't believe you climbed all those stairs on crutches," she said, tactfully changing the subject. "Just to keep your promise to meet me at the telescope."

He glanced down at her. "It nearly wore me out."

"I'm sorry—I don't' know how I could have forgotten about all those stairs."

He shifted, looking back out over the view. "People don't notice things like that until they become an obstacle."

"That's horrible!" she stated. "Being completely oblivious to the difficulties others have to face."

"I've lived my entire life with obstacles," he admitted.

"Which you've successfully overcome."

He looked back at her, shaking his head. "Your hope seems so boundless."

"No it does not," she said, looking up at him with a smirk. "I'm just not as jaded as you are."

"Granted," he agreed before he realized what she had said. "Are you referring to me as old?"

"No—of course not!" she said, sounding suspiciously like she was laughing.

He frowned. "I could have said 'childlike' hope—"

"I am not a child—"

"That's not what I meant," he tried to explain. "Your hope is powerful and weighty in value—

I only wish I had some of it myself."

"I don't think it is something one has, but rather acquires."

"By practice?"

"Yes—by practice."

"Perhaps you could be my teacher."

"I think not!" she laughed, taking a moment to study him. "Well, on second thought you do have a lot to learn…"

"Do I?" he snorted, looking out over the valley. "You might consider a tutor of your own, in that case."

"Tutoring! In what subject area? I think I am fairly well versed in life, not that you have noticed."

"A bit overconfident, aren't you?"

"Is there something wrong with that? Because if you have a problem—"

He playfully cupped her mouth with has hand though she tugged to pull it away. "Silence, woman," he said, pulling her against his side. "Let's _both_ listen and learn."

Her protests sputtered off and quickly died. He leaned back against the post, taking her with him. She kept her arms around his waist while he tucked her shawl around them both. They stayed that way for some time, watching the sky. It wasn't long before pale brushstrokes of pink and gold appeared over the dark horizon.

"The sun is coming up," she yawned, dropping her head against his chest, "and you haven't even slept."

He sighed tiredly. "I can manage…" he whispered close to her ear.

She turned her face against his neck and kissed it gently. "This will _not _be our last day together," she vowed, closing her eyes.

He rubbed her back slowly, keeping his eyes on the horizon. But he could not bring himself to agree.

c. 2007 by Christine Levitt


	30. Chapter 30 The Return

_**Chapter 30 The Return**_

Careful not to disturb him, Meg tried to gently dislodge her arm from where it lay crushed between his ribs and her side. Still amazed that Erik had actually fallen asleep, she decided it was more from a combination of the oppressive heat in the coach and the fact that he had not slept the night before. Though he had fought it for most of the way, eventually his head drooped until it found a resting place atop her shoulder. Having silently enjoyed his closeness and the chance to study him while he was unaware, she was losing sensation in her arm. Flexing her muscles, she watched him carefully for any sign of awakening and vowed not to disturb his much needed rest, not even her own comfort.

It had been a long time since he'd yielded to any–not since he had passed out on their ride to the parish. He seemed determined to always hold himself in check, always in control and always strong. Even after they married and began to share the same bed, he spent his nights as if on sentry duty, never allowing himself the luxury of relaxation and rest. She sensed he had always been this way, at least until today… Smiling to herself at what had transpired between them within the private confines of this coach, she felt encouraged and hopeful. Erik was changing, and it was about time.

Just thinking about their encounter emboldened her, and she could not help touching her head to his, gently nudging it into the curve of her shoulder. He stirred a bit, his breath raising delicious tingles of pleasure along her neck which flowed into other parts of her body. His arm was wedged between their hips and she was tempted to lift it and move closer to him. Deciding instead to look out the window in an effort to distract herself from the affect his closeness was having upon her, she was frustrated by the rough ride which jolted them against each other from time to time. When hand bumped against her knee she shifted her eyes to study it with a combination of fascination and frustration.

_How much longer must we wait?_ she pleaded silently with him. Her eyes moved slowly down the muscular length of his thigh and over the bend of his knee, from where his leg stretched toward the opposite seat. He had such long legs and she smiled at the considerable difference in their heights, coloring with the memory of them nestling behind hers as he held her while she slept, making her feel safe, protected…tempted.

Closing her eyes, she willed away the dangerous thoughts which occupied her far too often. For a change, she wanted to watch over him while he slept, wondering if his dreams were anything like hers. It had been years since he rescued in that dark alley and haunted her dreams ever since. Now that he belonged to her, she wanted to explore the intriguing strength and shape of his body and lose herself in the breathtaking glory of his eyes. Having felt his embrace and experienced only a taste of his passion, she craved more. Even more tempting was the fact that he seemed to be experiencing the same things, finding himself equally susceptible to her touch. He'd even admitted it to her, back in her room at the women's dormitory. He had told her how little human contact he had enjoyed in his life, making her feel special and proud to have won his trust. Sensing that these were potentially selfish and dangerous emotions, she could not help wanting to explore them. Erik was a strong man with an iron will, but in his desperate hunger to be loved and to love she had found his weakness. In doing so, she was responsible to both respect and nurture it. Vowing to keep all this in mind, she wondered if her desire for him was too strong, making her do shocking and unheard things that would not be at all acceptable for the realm of proper female behavior.

How could she even _think_ of seducing Erik? Shamed by the direction of her thoughts, she suddenly remembered giving him her word to uphold a marriage in name only. Yet his own behavior confused her, his unspoken language in direct conflict. There was something in his eyes, something unspoken and beguiling, something that told her he regretted his choice, even dared her to break her promise.

With a soft sigh of frustration she turned her head and stared out the opposite window, forcing herself to set aside the problem and concentrate on the matter at hand. Beyond the small window she watched the countryside roll by, gentle meadowlands and distant forests, an occasional farm or cross road. The ride was somehow smoother now, and she thought of Pieter and Ben sitting above them, Ben guiding the team and Pieter navigating their route. It was obvious they chose to give them their privacy, but considering the stifling air inside, perhaps they were just endeavoring to be more comfortable. Reaching up to slowly unfasten yet another button of her collar, she felt trickles of perspiration slide into her chemise, tickling the sensitive skin beneath. Even dressed in her simplest frock and undergarments, she was still very uncomfortable.

Glancing down at Erik's shirt, she noted how it clung to his chest and was damp with perspiration at the base of his throat. The men had abandoned their jackets and waistcoats as soon as the day warmed toward midmorning, and eventually his white dress shirt ended up unbuttoned a third of the way, partially revealing his chest. She remembered the beauty of his body the day he taught her to swim, and how it felt to be pressed against his length when he had held and kissed her. Staring at his slightly parted lips, she felt guilty of the worst sins concerning him, all centered around her desire to become one with him, as a man and wife should be. Despite their agreement not to.

_You've gotten your wish, now deal with the consequences…_

Grimacing at her own thoughts, she averted her gaze back to the opposite window, seeing that they passed first one cottage and then another. Surely they must be drawing nearer to the outlying boundaries of the city and the end of their journey. Before long they would arrive at the inn and meet with the authorities, the very thought of which made her stomach feel tight and nervous. They hadn't discussed their plans in minute detail, and she knew it would be necessary for everything to go according to Erik's plan. Though she was reluctant to do, it was nearly time to wake him up.

"Erik," she whispered, gently nudging her shoulder and seeing him stiffen momentarily. His head barely lifted from her shoulder before he lowered it again with a soft sigh of pleasure. Smiling at his sleepy protest, she touched her cheek to his head and whispered his name, drawing it out to sound like a gentle breath of a breeze. When he pressed his face against her neck she knew she had her work cut out for her. Again she whispered his name, straightening her posture.

"We're almost there, Erik…time to wake up."

She waited as his arm tightened along her side and he stretched back enough for her to move her arm. He nuzzled the side of her neck and went still again, his chest rising and falling as he breathed in his sleep. "Erik," she whispered a little more loudly, gently pressing her elbow against his side. As she considered a different approach he shifted again, surprising her by raising up his free arm and sweeping her up against his chest. She gripped his sides as his lips settled over hers in a deep, drugging kiss.

Holding her breath as he tightened his embrace and slowly bent her backward, she broke his kiss with a gasp of surprise. Gripping his back for support, she stared into his hooded eyes as he smiled tentatively and began to nibble soft kisses along the line of her lips. She relaxed her grip until she was cradling the backs of his shoulders with her hands, smiling back into the teasing light in his eyes which she found so maddening and irresistible. As if sensing her mood he drew back only enough to hold her gaze.

"How long have you been awake?" she accused softly, pretending outrage even as his eyes dipped to her lips.

"Long enough," he whispered, meeting her gaze once again before he slipped a hand beneath her hips and straightened abruptly, shifting her onto his lap in one swift movement.

"Ohh!" she gasped, gripping his shoulders with a soft laugh. "Erik, put me down—"

"Would that I could awaken thus every day," he whispered, kissing her tenderly before resting his head back against the upholstered seat. His eyes burned with bright green intensity as he loosened his grip around her waist as if to allow her the opportunity to stay or retake her seat next to him. Still, there was a knowing smile lighting his expression as he stared up at her.

"I have no idea what you are talking about!" she huffed, pushing off his lap. "And I'm too heavy for your lap!"

He turned his head, smiling with languid pleasure. "You weigh next to nothing, and you know it."

She smiled reluctantly, leaning against his side as she looked at him at her leisure. He was incredibly attractive to her in that moment, but for the time being she chose teasing as her one option in relating to him. "That does not give you the right to toss me around as you like," she stated regally.

He arched one of his brows. "You haven't asked permission to do you own will while I sleep unsuspectingly close by."

She turned her attention to rearranging her wrinkled skirts. "I was merely stretching my arm in order to restore feeling to it, but I apologize for disturbing your rest."

He moved quickly, pulling her back against him as he brought his lips to within centimeters of hers. "On the contrary," he whispered, "I found your stretching quite enticing."

Deciding she had had enough, she reached up and captured his head between her hands. "Is that so?" she said with a sweet smile. "Then stop playing games and kiss me."

His eyes lit with admiration before he pressed his mouth to hers, molding his lips against her lips. She sighed with contentment, grasping the back of his head while she answered his kiss. He closed his eyes and lifted a hand to cup her cheek, easing the pressure of his lips for more subtle, lingering kisses. When she grew hungrier for more she braced one hand against his jaw and tipped his head back, planting kisses along his throat as she breathed in the tantalizing fragrance of his skin. He gripped her waist and shifted their positions, bending his head to press teasing kisses beneath her chin.

"You taste salty," he whispered, his breath and lips caressing her skin and making her shiver with delight.

"I'm ticklish!" she choked, pushing against his chest. But he only chuckled softly, lowering his face to the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

"Perhaps another area will be less troublesome," he breathed, bending her back and supporting her with one arm. His lips nibbled at the seam where her sleeve and collar were joined.

Feeling the power of his touch right through her clothing, she wondered what it would feel like to have him tease her bare skin. She tried unsuccessfully to banish the thought as she reminded herself that this was only meant to tease him.

"Erik—please, " she begged, laughing softly as he kissed along her collarbone toward her neck. 

"Please what?" he breathed, kissing her cheek.

"Stop tickling me!" she half laughed, half gasped.

"You have awaken my curiosity," he breathed against her ear. "Where else?"

"Nowhere!" she gasped as her back touched the seat cushion. He lifted his head and gazed into her eyes while she smoothed her hands restlessly over his upper arms. "I fear I woke you too soon from your hibernation, dear husband." 

His eyes traveled appreciatively over her features as he captured a tendril of her hair and fingered it lazily. "For that I am most grateful," he said huskily. "How long did I sleep?"

Giving up her efforts to push him away, she smoothed a hand over his shoulder. "About an hour," she sighed dreamily. "Though I am sure you need much more."

"Only if you join me," he whispered, kissing her tenderly as he held her half lying in his arms.

She drifted in a fog of passion where there was only the stirring of his breath and the touch of his lips. Gently sifting her fingers through his hair, she slowly massaged the back of his neck, answering his brief kisses as she reverently touched his face and lips. Daring to lower her hand down his neck and along the opening of his partly unbuttoned shirt, she noted the change in his breathing as it grew more labored. When he lifted his head and looked into her eyes his gaze burned her like a brand of possession. For a moment, neither of them moved or spoke. 

Tracing a fingertip along his sideburn, she pretended to pout. "I wish we had more time together," she sighed softly.

His eyes fired with golden light as he captured her hand, watching her closely. "Touch me," he ordered in a whisper, his breath fanning her lips like a soft caress. But his expression became tortured as she hesitated.

"I thought you didn't—" she whispered, stopping as his eyes dropped to her lips.

Slowly sliding her hand downward, she spread her fingers over his abdomen, smiling at the sound of his sharply indrawn breath. When his eyes met hers again she inserted her fingertips between the buttons of his shirt and touched bare skin. His eyes drifted shut and he bent his forehead to hers.

"Marguerite," he breathed, tightening his arms around her.

"Now you," she whispered, reaching for his hand and placing it over her heart. He groaned and lifted his head, holding her gaze as he slowly opened his hand beneath hers. Feeling her heart race and pound, she swallowed but smiled and placed both hands upon his chest.

"This is how I have dreamed of you," she told him, watching his eyes flood with moisture. "But I too wish to be wakened from hibernation."

His brows lifted a moment before to her great disappointment he slowly drew back, lifting her to a sitting position and guiding her back against the upholstered seat as if she were a lifeless doll. He ran a hand through his hair and looked away, fighting some inner battle against desire.

She touched his cheek and forced him to look her in the eye. "Don't lock me out, Erik," she urged him. "I want to be your wife…in every way."

He swallowed with some effort. "I want it too," he whispered back, "but it's not possible."

Turning away, he pulled his hand from hers and sat at her side, staring at the empty seat opposite them. Her heart began to slowly shatter as the coach slowed considerably. She heard Ben's voice calling out to the team and they lurched to standstill. Quickly fastening her collar, she glanced at Erik just as he shook his head with regret. Once again his iron will had prevailed.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his gaze averted.

"For what?" she wanted to know, "tempting me, or not giving us what we really want?"

He tightened his jaw as someone climbed down from above. Soon they would need to open the door and the moment would be lost forever.

"Both," he admitted, sliding toward the door opposite her and reaching for the handle. 

Pressing back into her seat she watched him shove open the door and exit the coach. Berating herself for pushing him past his limits, she felt regret and shame course through her. Her eyes flooded with unshed tears as she sighed with frustration. "Oh Erik…"

"What's wrong with him?" Ben said quietly, startling her. Swiping at her eyes she looked up, busying herself with gathering her bag and hat. Aware of his sober gaze, she bunched her skirts into one hand and moved toward him.

"He's exhausted," she explained, rising to duck out the door and taking the hand he offered. He helped her down but continued watching her closely until she met his gaze. "He was up all night."

He nodded, gazing toward the stables. "I can imagine—he must be beside himself with worry."

_Or with frustration, thanks to you!  
_  
She glanced up at the blazing sun while her stomach rumbled. One quick scan of their surroundings told her that Erik was nowhere to be seen.

"He's upset you," Ben said disapprovingly as Pieter climbed down and came to join them, his expression troubled.

"He'll be back," he said quietly to no one in particular.

"We should check in and freshen up," she said brightly, bending to pick up her bag from where Ben had tossed their luggage. He followed suit, picking up Erik's bag as well.

"Let's meet for a late luncheon in the common room," Pieter suggested, following Ben's gaze toward the stables.

Ben nodded. "I'll go find him and tell him." 

Ben returned sometime later, alone and wearing an angry expression. The reasonable explanation was that Erik needed a walk to stretch his leg, though she knew it was her fault. Gazing out the window of the dining room and half listening to the animated conversations of the overcrowded inn, she could not help worrying for his safety. Suddenly aware of the weight of someone's gaze she looked up to find Pieter studying her. With a forced smile she glanced down at her food and resumed picking at it in an attempt to look somewhat in control of her warring emotions. The service was painfully slow as was typical of steeplechase events, so it was somewhat late by the time she returned to her room to await the meeting with the authorities. Locking herself in, she walked toward the bed and stared at it, choking back a sob at the sight of Erik's unopened bag, still sitting at the foot of the bed where Ben had placed it. Her eyes scanned the double featherbed and small dresser, washbasin and pitcher, finding everything undisturbed. There was no note, no sign or even a lingering scent of his cologne to indicate his having visited their room. Kneeling at the side of the bed, she buried her face against the quilt, half weeping and half praying for her absent husband.

"Please Lord," she whispered, her throat tight, "forgive me—I've been a rebellious and disobedient wife…I've driven him away with my selfishness…and my lust."

Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused upon the implication of that last word, telling herself it was no use pretending her feelings were anything less than lust. She needed help and did not hesitate to ask it from the person who knew her best.

"I need your strength to submit to your will, and to my husband's…protect him and guide him, Lord, and please, grant him your mercy and favor for this appointed task…"

She continued thus for some time until a sense of peace began to overtake her. Judging by the slant of the sun it was nearly time to join the others downstairs. Perhaps Erik had somehow checked with the staff and determined the time and place. They were here by his request and ultimately for his benefit, so it was unreasonable to think that he would miss attending just to avoid the stares of others. With sudden inspiration she shot to her feet and opened his bag, digging deeply into its contents and pulling out the half mask she had packed for him at the beginning of her journey with him. Swallowing a sob of grief, she tucked it back into his things and refastened the bag.

A sharp rap upon the door startled her, and with a surge of joy she leapt toward it, flinging it open and mouthing his name, but to her complete surprise her mother stood there. At her side was a tall, distinguished looking man and behind him a shorter and very handsome one about her mother's age. Her mother rushed toward her and threw her arms around her, hugging her fiercely. The men watched with hard expressions, their eyes darting round the room.

"Maman!" she gasped, pulling her mother closer. "I'm so glad you are here!"

"Marguerite—" Louise soothed, holding her and patting her back. Someone cleared his throat and she pulled back, guiding them away from the door to admit the men. They entered without asking permission, closing the door behind them. About to protest, Meg felt her mother's arm slip tighten at her waist.

"Where is Erik?" she whispered to Meg, glancing at the men as they walked toward Erik's bag. 

"I don't know!" she whispered back. "I have not seen him since we arrived—"

"Allow me to introduce ourselves," the taller man began. "I am Inspector Leger, and this is my assistant, Detective Aubin," he announced.

"They are the ones Erik contacted," her mother said quietly. 

"Now, if I may, Mlle. Giry—"

Meg turned to face the inspector, keeping her arm around her mother's waist. "Destler—" she corrected, clearing her throat. "My name is _Madame _Destler."

Turning to look into her mother's radiant smile, Meg forced a tiny smile of her own. "So he did it," her mother said, her voice quiet with awe as she kissed Meg's cheek.

"We need to know where your husband is, Madame," the detective spoke up, his eyes on her mother. "We have a meeting scheduled downstairs, beginning momentarily."

She nodded, acutely aware of Erik's absence in the tiny room. "I believe he has gone for a walk," she stated, lifting her chin. "Surely you realize he would not make a public appearance."

"It is quite obvious that he did not," the inspector stated blandly, "go for a walk, to be specific."

"Even your two friends down the hall admit to being troubled by his delay," the detective added. 

Her mother leaned close to her ear. "It would be better if you tell them," she whispered. "We must trust them; they do have his best interests in mind."

"I do not know where he is!" she insisted, looking at the men. "He stepped out of the coach when we arrived, and I haven't seen him since!"

"Then I must ask you to come along with us," the inspector said gravely. "Perhaps your presence downstairs will cause him to reconsider and meet with us, as originally planned."

"There is nothing to reconsider," she said stiffly. "My husband has every intention of meeting with you—he has just been delayed somehow, I am sure of it."

"I cannot emphasize the importance of his working with us," the inspector warned.

She took a step toward him. "It was my husband who contacted _you_; this was his idea—"

"We have questioned everyone working here and no one has seen him," he answered, nodding toward the stairs. "I suggest we meet as planned; perhaps he will have a change of heart and join us."

Meg felt her anger surge to a fever pitch. "Have you considered the possibility that he might be in danger?"

"That is doubtful, considering all the men I have placed in the area," Leger said dryly. "All we can do is proceed as planned: you and your mother, along with your two friends and the attorney have two hours before making your appearance at the races. Perhaps we might still flush our suspects out into the open and salvage our plan to capture them."

Meg's throat clenched in fear. "The Buquet brothers are here?"

"We have men following their every move, so your husband is in no danger," Leger answered.

She studied his expression, feeling little comfort. "I pray you are correct in your assumption, but you might at least consider giving him the benefit of the doubt. He is eager to put the past behind him, as well as see to it that they are in your custody."

"Then we share the same objective," he answered. "Now if you please, come along. We have much to discuss before we leave." 

With hands bound behind his back and blood seeping into his blindfold, Erik stumbled and found himself shoved down onto a hard chair. The iron grip on his shoulder tightened in warning and he sensed someone bending before him. Preparing to kick back with all his might, he cried out in pain as his sore leg was shoved backward against one of the legs of the chair. Praying they would do no further damage to his leg, he stiffened as they tied him to the chair, ending with a rope around his chest. His shoulders burned at the angle with which his arms were tied behind him, and he fought to keep from passing out again.

Since the surprise blow to the back of his head he'd battled black waves of dizziness, feeling nausea sweep over him and threaten to make him sick. Thankful that he had not eaten since a light meal in the coach that morning, he breathed more deeply in an effort to help it pass. Blood trickled down his neck and he still felt the sting of the blow delivered to the deformed side of his face. 

Whoever bound him rose up suddenly, moving away and taking the sickening odor of his body with him. Heavy boots trudged over what must be a dirt floor and halted at the opposite end of what could only be a small cabin or house. He heard a rusty latch swing and the loud scrape of a door as the grip on his shoulder released and the one standing behind him strolled around to face him. His footsteps were somewhat lighter and when he spoke Erik recognized the gravely voice immediately.

"Well, well, well—," it began, accompanied by a putrid odor of strong liquor.

Swallowing against his nausea, Erik stiffened his back and waited.

"If it isn't our dear Phantom, and without his mask no less! So we meet again…"

A garbled chuckle drifted from the far side of the room as Josef Buquet began to pace before him. Listening carefully beyond the sounds they made, Erik detected and stored every detail he could in his memory, trying to piece together what he remembered from their journey here. The short span of a wooden bridge over swift flowing water, crows protesting overhead and the distant lowing of cattle. He had awoken to find himself lying facedown over the back of a horse, his hands and feet bound by what must have been a rope under his horse's belly. Now they were confined in a moldy, damp structure that smelled faintly of wheat and rotting food.

"Turn on a light so we can see our prize," Buquet ordered the other.

He could hear the scrape of a match and saw the dim glow of a lantern beyond his blindfold. Liquid gurgled and someone drank lustily while Erik tried not to grimace in disgust. They shared the bottle before someone sloshed its contents at the back of his head, burning the cut in his scalp and making him grit his teeth against the pain. His jaw was forced up as the blindfold was ripped off, part of it catching and pulling at the wound on his head. He felt blood run down along his shoulder as he fought to keep his senses and slowly open his eyes to his captors. But the light caused pain to knife through his head and he closed them tightly. But not before he confirmed who held him.

"Open yer eyes!" the man who must have been Josef's brother ordered, slapping the good side of his face. He did so at great cost, bearing it only by lowering his chin.

Josef laughed good naturedly. "You never did like light very much, did you?"

"With that face who could blame him?" his brother added, his voice betraying an accent Erik could not place.

"It's not just his face, it's his deeds!" Josef declared, pacing back and forth before him. 

"Why don't he sing for us?" the brother taunted. "I ain't never heard that voice."

"It is legendary," Josef declared, turning to slap the side of his head. Once the blow was delivered Erik dropped his head and fell into oblivion.

Awakened by the splash of fetid water, he gasped for air and shot upright, grinding his jaw against pain and dizziness.

"We didn't give you permission to nap!" Josef shouted, leaning close. "It's getting late and we want our reward, and you are going to do exactly as you are told if you want to see your _friends_ again."

Resisting the urge to spit forcefully into his face, Erik held his head up despite the horrible breath which assaulted his senses. 

"Tho' we'd be happy to finish what we started with that little blond girl," his brother snarled, "before you so rudely interrupted—"

_Meg…  
_  
"Forget it!" Josef shouted, shoving at his brother. "Right now we have to concentrate on delivering him to the judge, getting the money and getting out of here—that's it!"

The other one shifted a boot and strolled toward them. "How are we gonna do that, with police all over? Maybe we should hide out a while, have some fun—"

"We have the police in our back pocket!" Josef sang, taking another swig of liquor. "If it wasn't for them we wouldn't have had any chance of trading him in for the reward—all we do is split it three ways and make a fast getaway."

"How long can we trust _him_—right now, he's reporting to his superiors!"

"Who have no idea he's on our side as long as he keeps us his act!" Josef lectured. "Now do me a favor and let me do the thinking!"

"All right, all right," his brother agreed, just as they heard the sound of horses approaching. Erik concentrated…there were three, maybe four riders approached and halted. Slowly turning his head just enough to watch the door, he pretended complete disinterest. Yet his mind raced to piece together all the details of what sounded like a conspiracy against the police. Someone in the corps was working with them, but who, and for how long? He began to realize why past failures to gain justice were sadly lacking. Surely this was the reason why their attack on Meg could not be traced.

Several men crowded into the room as Josef lowered a flour sack over his head. He felt his ropes being cut and he was again dragged to his feet and out the door. Praying fervently for Meg's protection and for wisdom, Erik followed them and decided to wait for his earliest opportunity to stop their plans.

"Nothing," Detective Gilbert complained, "we've looked everywhere…they've looked everywhere."

Leger turned his head toward the place where Pieter, Ben and Meg had reined in their horses for a quiet discussion not meant for their ears. "Keep looking—he had to have left some sign behind."

"All right, but I'm beginning to think Aubin was right—the phantom fooled us all once again. He's probably on his way to collect his own reward money by now."

"Aubin lost track of our suspects—" Leger said irritably. "They slipped past his men and got away, even though we can prove they sold the opera thoroughbreds."

"Someone knocked _him_ out!" Gilbert defended his fellow detective.

"And you're sure it was Destler—"

"I don't know who it was—"

Leger leaned close. "Think about it from his perspective: he was unmasked—he would have stood out even in that crowd. Add to that the fact that somehow he's managed to gain a little circle of friends who came all this way with him, including a wife! No…we're missing something important, and it's probably under our noses."

Gilbert shook his head. "Aubin said he remembers hearing them ride off—maybe three of them. We tracked them to these woods but lost them. It had to be the phantom, probably with the help of some of his crazy opera fans. If it wasn't him, why hasn't he shown himself by now?"

"Why would Destler frustrate his own plan? Why would he come back here, where we could easily trap him? He had sanctuary in a neutral country, and there was no reason to come back here."

Gilbert frowned. "None of us really knows anything about him, that's clear by the behavior of his friends over there. We can only guess at his motives."

"He's no fool," Leger sighed, turning his head toward Meg as she rode away from her companions, leaving them to follow in her wake. "Why would he betray a woman like that?"

Gilbert sighed in agreement. "He wouldn't…with a wife like that, he would want to clear himself."

"My thoughts exactly," Leger said soberly, urging his horse to follow them. "How long have you known Aubin, by the way, or his men?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Ten years or so, he's a veteran. As for his men, at least two or three years each—

why do you ask?"

"I know I'm new to the corps, but I need to consider every aspect of this case…see everything with new eyes, as a stranger might."

Gilbert stared at him in shock. "Sir, are you implying—"

"Humor me," Leger ordered, leaving him behind as he galloped after the small group." 

They halted at the edge of the darkening woods, Ben pulling his reins to turn and block her way.

"It's useless, Meg," he stated, squinting to see her features. "We've searched everywhere for him—the police have too. We can come back in the morning."

"He's in danger," she insisted. "I can feel it—besides, they haven't given up either."

Pieter looked back over his shoulder and nodded. "She's right, Ben. But I was thinking of your mother, back at the inn. She must be worried—maybe I'll ride back and let her know we're nearly finished for one night."

"He didn't show himself at the races—" Meg stated in disbelief. "He told me he wanted their attention off me—"

"You're worn out," Ben soothed, shaking his head.

"We went ahead without him and did everything he planned—" she continued. "We even saw Josef Buquet from a distance, watched him sell the opera horses and take the counterfeit money—and they let him ride merrily away without a care for Erik's safety!"

"We should go back," Ben insisted. "It's late."

She gripped the pommel and slid from her horse, ignoring his impatient groan. "I'm not giving up!"

Pieter and Ben watched her stalk off into the woods, looking to each other for a decision neither could make.

_I prayed…we all prayed! It cannot end like this! _she vowed, tears threatening to flow from her eyes. Shoving aside the dense undergrowth, she strained against every hindrance and moved deeper into the woods. Passing a stand of tall rhododendron she discovered a tiny well worn path and stopped abruptly, staring into the gloom. At her feet was a slight drop off which extended into a clearing. Her heart surged in hope as she yelled back, forging ahead and down the earthen bank toward the sign.

"Ben! Pieter—come quickly! I've found something!"

Scrambling down onto the path, she spotted the object glowing dimly like a white beacon in the darkness. It lie at the base of a clump of bushes, caught halfway up on a branch. She ran toward it, yelling excitedly and hearing horses approach from a different direction. Throwing herself into the brambles she snatched it free with trembling hands, staring at it in disbelief. Carefully uncrumpling it and brushing the dirt off, she began to laugh. Tracing her fingertips over the initials she had embroidered herself, she called Erik's name aloud.

"Are you all right?" Ben called as he rode and dismounted. Turning to face him, she looked up at her brother and Pieter as the police horses came into view, heading toward them.

She held it out the handkerchief for them to see. "It's Erik's," she choked, tears running down her cheeks. "I embroidered his initials myself—he was here! He came this way!"

Ben waved his arm and yelled for the inspector, laughing in relief as she gently lifted the fabric to her lips and kissed it, closing her eyes and murmuring a prayer of thanks. 

_c. 2007 by Christine Levitt_

10


	31. Chapter 31 The Ransom

_**Chapter 31 - The Ransom**_

Blindfolded once again, Erik stumbled between the brothers down what could only be a long corridor in the judge's mansion. There was an urgency driving them to desperation to collect the reward for his return and leave the country, which made they unpredictable and even more dangerous than he had anticipated. It was his own plan gone terribly wrong, for he had not anticipated corruption within the corps de police when he should have known better. Such an oversight indicated he was losing his touch in outsmarting the law, and now he had to not only survive his ordeal but somehow prevent anyone else from being harmed. As he struggled to keep from at the least losing his balance and at the worst passing out, Meg's face kept appearing in his thoughts. Only now it filled him with cold dread at the probability of never seeing her again.

She had, he now realized with complete certainty, softened his stony heart with her warmth and courage. She had given him a taste of love and passion, thus fulfilling him as a man. They could have had the beginning of something rare and good, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that refusing to consummate their marriage had been the right thing to do. If he was sentenced to a life in prison she would be free to annul the marriage and find someone else. If he met a darker fate he would be leaving her the protection of his name and all his earthly possessions to provide and sustain her into a long and comfortable future. Feeling weaker as the blackness swooped up around him, he stumbled and fell.

Jerked roughly to his feet he felt as if both shoulders were dislocated as the brothers shoved him faster toward their goal. Gasping in pain and fighting a wave of nausea, he fought to move as quickly and agilely as he could, despite his blindfold.

"Get up!" Buquet's brother growled, "we'll carry you if need be, but I don't think that will impress the judge too much."

They turned a corner and Erik caught the faint scent of tobacco smoke as they slowed their pace and entered what seemed to be a large room, judging by the echo of their footsteps along the bare floor. They came to an abrupt halt and he swayed, feeling the ironlike grasp of their hands as he lowered his head to keep his wits about him. He was vaguely aware of other scents, lemon oil and paper, as well as the sharp tang of liquor he could not name. In the momentary silence he could hear the soft tick of a clock.

"Let him sit down," a hoarse, elderly voice ordered and he was turned and shoved down into a chair. Its softness and the cool fabric against his bound hands told him it was a fine quality leather and he was so grateful for its support that he leaned back into its softness. Easing his aching leg before him, he felt the warning grip of a hand upon his shoulder. One of them left his side and he heard the sound of paper being uncrumpled and smoothed out.

"We're here to claim this reward," Josef Buquet said by way of introduction. "Here's your fugitive from justice!"

The answering silence made Erik hold his breath. He was tempted to object and defend himself, but felt a check deep within his soul.

There was a bored sigh. "He was not to be harmed," was the answer. "That is clearly stated, for those who are able to read."

"It ain't our fault he put up a fight," the other Buquet complained.

"Surely you know what a wild one he is," Josef added with a touch of sarcasm. "Your Honour."

"He was to be delivered to Inspector Leger, not to me," the judge barked. "I cannot have such matters handled in my home!"

Erik heard the slam of a hand upon a desk. "His right hand man cleared us coming directly to you," Josef sneered back. "So give us our money."

"Take the blindfold off—I want to be sure it's really him."

"Oh, it's him all right."

"I prefer to be sure before handing over all that money to you."

Erik felt the fabric ripped away from his head, tearing and reopening the wound at the back of his head. Opening his eyes to see, he felt knifelike pains cut into his head at the brightness of the light. Blood began to trickle down the side of his head once again.

"You've probably given him a concussion," the judge complained, "now he won't be fit for questioning!"

"Stop wasting time and give us the reward!" Josef ordered.

"You've got your fugitive!" the other growled.

"You've violated the terms, thus making it null and void!"

After a moment of stunned silence the hand on his shoulder lifted and the bigger Buquet rushed toward the judge. Squinting to see, Erik found that he could not bear the pain caused from the light, yet he tried to rise from his chair. Josef gripped his arm and he felt the cold point of a knife at the side of his neck to keep him in his seat. His brother wrestled the judge from his chair and to his feet, then he heard a choked reply.

"Over there—in the safe…"

Wrestled to the other side of the room, the judge began to work on opening the safe.

"Hurry up or I'll cut your throat," Buquet's brother warned the judge.

Erik stiffened but did not move with the knife at his own throat. A lock was snapped back and he heard the thump of the reward money being transferred. The judged was knocked to the floor and both brothers fled together.

"Let's go!"

"May we never meet again, Ghost!"

Their steps pounded heavily out of the room and around the corner, soon echoing into silence. Erik finally managed to pull himself to his feet but had to lean his hip against the chair and put his head down. Swaying dangerously, he prayed to somehow be of help to the elderly judge. He heard a soft grunt and footsteps before a surprisingly strong hand gripped his arm.

"I'm all right, sit down," he was ordered, another hand shoving him down. "You look white as snow, young man."

Ashamed at his weakness, Erik could rest the side of his face against the chair, barely opening his eyes to find they had been lowered, no doubt for his benefit. A dark shadow loomed over him.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the man said in a gravely voice. "I am Judge Miller."

Erik tried to look up but could but could not seem to do so, nor to focus his eyes. "They spoke of you," he said hoarsely, "back in the cabin."

The judge frowned, his face wrinkling deeply. "I heard the report of your running away, but frankly I suspected foul play."

"I only went for a walk to stretch my leg," he croaked, feeling the judge guide his back away from the chair to cut the ropes binding his wrists. For a moment he could not bring his arms forward, but with some effort he managed it with the judge's help. "I never thought I'd be walking into a trap."

"Inspector Leger is strangely absent," the judge quipped, shaking his head. "I doubt any of this was his plan. Sit back while I ring for my staff; then tell me everything you know."

Wincing at the sound of the call bell, Erik obeyed, repeating whatever snatches of information he could remember. During his brief account the judge got up, indicating with a wave of his hand to continue. He poured two glasses of liquor and came back, offering one to him. Flexing his hands to help the feeling return to his fingers, Erik gripped the glass handed to him, balancing it upon his good leg. They heard the clatter of hooves pass directly by the window by the safe, their eyes meeting as the Buquet brothers rode to freedom. Approaching footsteps announced the arrival of the staff as a group of frightened servants poured into the room, all speaking at once.

"They're finally gone!"

"Sir! Are you all right?"

"Thank God that's over!"

The judge held up a hand. "I'm fine—fine," he insisted. "Did they harm anyone else?"

"No sir, we're a bit shaken up, but quite unharmed," one man answered.

Erik felt a soft touch on his shoulder and caught the scent of starch and lavender. "I'll get something for your head, laddie," a woman's voice said quietly.

Three of them held us hostage in the kitchens, Sir, but I recognized one of them!" a nervous man stated. "What was his name—one moment, I'll remember it…"

The judge looked up, waiting. "Take your time, James," he breathed patiently, taking a taste of brandy and nodding to Erik to do so.

"He's a detective, the same one who called at my daughter's house a week ago, investigating an incident on her street. We were having a cup of tea when he came: Aubin, that was his name: Detective Aubin!"

Silence reigned a moment as those present tried to digest the information.

"Are you sure about that, James?" the judge said quietly.

"Yes, sir—he introduced himself, and you can ask her to confirm it! I knew there was something familiar about him—imagine a detective working with those two criminals as if they were partners!"

Erik finally met the judge's gaze. "They admitted it, Your Honor," he confirmed. "They said they had the police in their back pocket." Very carefully he took a sip of brandy and swallowed, feeling the burn of the liquor down his throat and into his chest.

"Police corruption, in my Corps?" Judge Miller said in disbelief. Straightening, he looked at his staff. "Someone get word to Inspector Leger right away," he ordered. "He's staying at the inn—interrupt his sleep if you need to."

"Right away sir," James said as he rushed out. "I would be happy to!"

Erik felt a hand touch on his arm. "I must clean your wound—try to hold still."

With that a basin was set on the table next to him, steaming with warm water. He dared not turn his head but leaned forward, letting someone take his brandy as her hand touched his back and she held a warm compress to his wound. He groaned in pain as she gently cleaned the scalp, but when she applied a burning, stinging fluid he gripped the arms of the chair, pressing his forehead against the wing while she held it in place. After what seemed like an eternity she removed it and he was able to take a deep breath. Shuddering as with a chill, he felt the glass touch his hand.

"Drink more," the judge advised, "it will help distract you."

Though his head pounded and throbbed he took a swallow and nearly choked. Gasping in surprise, he felt his eyes water. "I forgot I haven't had any food for hours," he stated in disbelief.

The judge laughed. "Someone get this man some hot food, and Claire, make up the downstairs suite for him. Henri, send word for my physician to come right away, will you?"

"Yes sir," he was answered in unison, all eager to obey as they left to perform their duties.

"Now let's get this covered," the woman tending him warned as she squeezed his shoulder. He winced as she positioned a bandage over his scalp and began winding a roll of gauze around his forehead.

"Brandy…a private suite?" Erik rasped. "I expected a jail cell for my accommodations."

The judge laughed heartily. "I think we've gone beyond that stage, by now, fellow victim. You did surrender, file your own deposition and help us implicate two felons involved in much grander schemes."

"Forgive my mentioning that they did just ride away to their freedom," Erik groaned.

"I also know that if you had been able you would have come to my aid," Judge Miller stated. "So why not let me weigh things in your favor for now, until we've have a chance to better review your case?"

"As you wish," Erik conceded, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

"And, when you are up to it, I have a proposition for you, one which might just erase the past for good, unless of course you claim a trial by jury and the opportunity to defend yourself."

Erik forced one eye open. "I have no defense, Your Honour; and, without meaning any offense, the idea of a fair trial in this locale is quite laughable."

"You're right about that, given the complexity of your case and recent element of corruption," the judge said evenly. "Not to mention half the mob wanting to lynch you and the other half desperate to hear you perform _Don Juan_."

Erik winced but not from his pain. "Please, sir: don't remind me."

"After you've had a chance to rest we will hold a private hearing right here, witnessed of course by the proper authorities and with legal representation for you."

One of the servants came to the door. "Sir, the police have arrived," he announced. "And there are three others—two men and a young woman who says she is his wife: they all appear to have suffered quite an ordeal themselves."

_Meg was safe… and she was here!  
_

"Are they in the drawing room?"

"Yes sir."

"Then let's go."

Erik shifted to the edge of his seat as the judge got up and took his arm. The woman finished tying his bandage and gave him leave, so he slowly got up, gripping the edge of his chair. Surprised at his own weakness, he ground his jaw and accepted their assistance.

"We'll greet them but I want you sequestered in a private room," the judge advised, helping him down the corridor. Another male servant took his other arm as he walked somewhat unsteadily between them. "I will handle the police while you get some rest and see my physician. We'll talk in the morning."

A large group of police was waiting for them, and when they saw him they pushed close to the point where Erik was pressed back against the wall. Judge Miller moved to their center, leaving him leaning with closed eyes against the wall by his servant.

"I'm fine—yes this is Mon. Destler—no unfortunately the Buquet brothers fled with the reward money. Thankfully they didn't take the time to examine it closely. No, Mon. Destler is not able to answer any questions—direct them to me for now. I have thoroughly questioned him and can answer in his stead. He is not to be disturbed, except by my physician or family—"

Footsteps clattered toward them and he heard shouts of protest. "Erik!"

Opening his eyes at the sound of her voice, Erik gazed with foggy vision toward the direction he heard her and suddenly there she was, coming toward him until she stopped abruptly. Her face was lined with concern and then shock. Ben appeared at her side and Pieter shoved himself forward just as Meg's eyes closed and she crumpled to the floor. Ben leapt to catch her just before she fell to the floor. Cradling her in his arms, he looked up in astonishment.

"She's fainted!" he exclaimed, looking accusingly at Erik. "She's never fainted in her life!"

Pieter studied him a moment before relief washed over his features and he smiled crookedly. "I think you've really frightened her this time, Erik."

Alarmed, Erik pulled away from the wall and swayed sideways, caught by Judge Miller's servant. He was a large man and strong, though much older than Erik.

"Steady," he said quietly, gripping Erik's arm.

"Is she all right?" he croaked, trying to focus his vision upon his wife.

"This is your wife?" Judge Miller asked, turning toward him.

He swallowed but could not tear his gaze from her still form. "Yes, sir."

He found himself steered toward the double doors. "Settle them for the night," the judge offered as Ben lifted Meg and carried her through the entrance to the private suite.

"Judge Miller, I must insist upon questioning him," Leger interrupted as he stepped forward. "It is of the utmost importance—"

"Come with me to my office, Leger," he replied, beckoning with one hand. "I will let you know all the details.

"May we see to them?" Pieter asked the judge. "I am a physician, as is his wife's brother."

Judge Miller nodded. "Of course; I did call my private physician as well."

"Thank you, sir; may we return tomorrow, with her mother?"

"Of course: now if you'll excuse me, I must speak to the inspector."

"My men are to form a search party," Leger told the group. "Gilbert, do you mind taking over?"

"Not at all—let's go everyone," Gilbert ordered, ushering the policemen toward the door."

Meg awoke slowly from a heavy sleep, groggy and disoriented. She became aware of lying atop a luxuriously comfortable bed in her clothes. The room was lit by a dim glow whose source seemed to be at the far corner of the room. The air was scented with the aroma of potatoes and cheese, making her stomach rumble. As she awoke more fully she also became aware of the sound of soft breathing and realized she was not alone. Turning her head just as she remembered Erik as she had last seen him, she noted his position next to her in the bed. His head was turned away but she could see the thick bandage covering an area toward the back. Sitting up and leaning over him but careful not to disturb him, she saw that his eyes were closed. His breathing was slow and deep and she ran her eyes over him to ensure that he was all right. Upon the table at his side stood a small bottle of what must be either medication for pain or to help him sleep. Shuddering at the memory of his bloodied head and neck and darkly bruised cheek, she focused her gaze upon his serene expression as a wave of tenderness for him washed over her.

Daring to gently touch his shoulder, she breathed a soft prayer of thanksgiving that he had been returned to her. All her concerns for his safety had been real, and now she had proof of his innocence. Somehow she sensed that the Buquet brothers had gotten him into their clutches, and now she was staring at the result. Yet she couldn't remember anything since first seeing him when they entered the judge's mansion. Had she passed out, or slept through everything? Where were Ben and Pieter? She put a hand to her head, feeling no ill effects except a bit of a weak feeling no doubt due to her distress and not eating anything most of the day. Or was it still night?

Frustrated by not being able to see Erik's face, she gently eased off the mattress and went around the foot of the bed to stand over him. Her feet were bare and she felt filthy, but as she stared down at her husband she was relieved to see that someone had taken great care for his comfort. He wore a clean nightshirt that lay half buttoned, affording her a peek at the clean muscular expanse of his chest. No more blood running down over his shoulder, soaking a quarter of his shirt. His arms lay at his sides atop the blankets, the wrists bruised and raw from whatever harsh treatment he had received. The double bed barely accommodated his height, she noticed, her gaze moving down his injured leg. She could detect no extra padding to indicate that it had been bandaged, so he had no re-injured it. Returning her gaze to his face, she remembered that her greatest fear had been never seeing him again. Yet somehow and for some unknown reason his life had been spared. Vowing never to waste a moment of their time together again, she leaned over him and softly kissed the newly grown beard covering his cheek, finding it soft to her touch.

Again her stomach rumbled, and she straightened, watching him for any sign of awakening. But he slept on, oblivious to her presence. Turning to the table at his side, she saw that someone had brought a tray for him but not everything had been eaten. Snatching up a piece of cheese from the plate, she popped it into her mouth and turned back to study him closely. When he slept on undisturbed she reached for the half empty cup and drank the remainder of what smelled like apple juice. Still hungry, she knew she had to go in search of someone or something to eat, and to use the lavatory. Wondering how she would ever find her way around she nevertheless knew she had to try, and now was the perfect time. If she did not go now while he was sleeping, he might awaken and find himself alone, something which she vowed to avoid at all costs. After their ordeal she wanted to be sure that he was never alone again, not if she could help it.

Taking a hesitant breath, she tiptoed to the door and opened it very slowly, turning her head to study him carefully. Not a twitch or even a change in breathing occurred, so she turned back to peek out into the hall before stepping out. Closing the door softly behind her she started down the corridor, feeling like a criminal and hoping that someone would be up to help her. Turning left at the intersection of the two halls, she started off without any idea of where she was headed.

_c. 2007 by Christine Levitt_


	32. Chapter 32 The Announcement

_**Chapter 32 The Announcement**_

Meg eased the lid back onto the soup tureen, nervously glancing around the darkened kitchen and wondering about the wisdom of her mission. Having found her way here guided by her nose and a growling stomach she told herself she should have been satisfied with the leftovers from Erik's plate even as she silently set a glass upon the tray and started to pour herself some milk. With the vision of his bloodied head and unbalanced stance etched in her memory she moved quickly in order to return to his side. If he did have a concussion he would need to be watched throughout the night. Whoever had sequestered them alone had no doubt trusted her to awaken and care for him. Feeling guilty for having crumpled to the floor in a faint when he had needed her most, she wondered again how she could have been so weak to pass out in the first place.

"Could I have fainted from hunger?" she whispered, replacing the milk and placing a napkin upon the tray. To her knowledge she had never fainted in her life. The very thought of succumbing to such a feminine weakness was humiliating. Considering all the possible causes, she whispered them as he picked up her tray. "Too upset, too little to drink combined with too much running around the countryside?"

"Perhaps you are expecting," a gravely voice interrupted.

Whirling around, she gripped the tray as the milk sloshed and spilled down one side of the glass. Staring wide eyed at the man standing in the threshold of the kitchen, she watched his suspicious eyes travel from her face down her person, making her cringe inwardly. He was older than Pieter, she guessed, much heavier in build and dressed in an expensive looking robe that covered his nightshirt. The darkness behind him made him even more threatening, she reasoned as she forced a nervous smile of greeting.

"So you caught me raiding your kitchen," she breathed with pretended charm. "I hope you will forgive my boldness—"

"No need to apologize," he answered with a wave of one large, beefy hand. Then, to her alarm he smiled indulgently as he moved toward her.

She bent stiffly into a half formal curtsy which, to her relief, stopped him short. He looked puzzled and frowned as she introduced herself.

"I am Mme. Marguerite Destler," she stated confidently, straightening regally and ignoring the flittering of her stomach. "Erik Destler's wife."

She watched him take note of her decidedly common frock and dirt splotched hem, then her hastily braided hair. "You're very young," he accused, as if doubting her status. "I am Judge Miller, of course." 

She gripped the tray and smiled, half wishing Erik would appear at the door. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir, and thank you for hospitality; I must return now to check on my husband's condi—" 

"I'm sure he's fine," he interrupted, taking a step closer. "Mon. deGraaf stitched his scalp while your brother cleaned him. My own physician administered the sedative you may or may not recall."

_I don't recall! Were you there, and did you watch?_ she worried. They way he studied her made her increasingly uncomfortable but she did not want him to realize that fact. "They are both physicians and very fond of Erik. I'm sure they will be back to check him momentarily."

"In the middle of the night?" he chuckled, crossing his arms. "I would not have guessed Mon. Destler had such loyal friends, nor such a beautiful little wife."

"Erik is a wonderful man," she gushed, wondering where on earth his staff was. "He is very gifted and sometimes regrettably misunderstood—"

"Your husband is a criminal," he declared with obvious amusement, "at the highest level of his category but a criminal no less, and I have every intention of taking advantage of his 'gifts' to ensure that he makes full restitution for his actions."

Stunned, Meg fought her anger and fear as she prayed about how to respond. _What did he mean by making sure Erik made full restitution if there were no charges against him? And what could he be planning? _"Any mercy you might extend toward him," she said carefully, "would be greatly appreciated, sir," she said carefully."

He nodded briefly as if to acknowledge the appropriateness of her response. "There are two civil suits which remain unsettled after countless others have been proved false...with sound legal representation he should however be able to settle out of court."

"God willing," she breathed, holding his critical gaze. After a moment he sighed and placed both hands on the back of the chair nearest him, causing her to relax somewhat. 

"As for your condition, _Madame_, I trust it was merely the result of strain and concern for your husband's safety."

Suddenly inspired, she lifted her chin. "Of course, but perhaps your assumption will prove to be prophetic, should I find myself in the early stages of motherhood." She watched his expression change then, as if a twinge of guilt was tugging at his conscience. "If so," she continued, "I shall be thrilled beyond measure." 

After a momentary silence he nodded. "Though I have been a widower for many years, I do remember the days when my wife was expecting our first child…"

She took a step closer. "I am sorry for your loss, Judge Miller."

"You remind me of her," he said gazing off into the distance. Then he cleared his throat and swept past her to go to the sink. "I hope you will forgive the ramblings of an old man and return to your husband's side," he half ordered. "It comes from living alone in such a large house."

"But you do have children?"

"Yes," he said, turning to face her as he took a drink of water. "Three, and seven grandchildren who live some distance away."

"Then you must insist they come for a visit, or go to them," she said bravely.

"Insist?" he balked, "why should a grandfather have to insist? They should know better!"

"But if that is the only way to bring them here, why not do so?"

He frowned but appeared to consider her suggestion. "Perhaps you're right…"

"Well, I must check on Erik now," she announced, turning and striding to the door. There she paused to glance back at him. "A head wound is nothing to treat lightly."

"I have heard that said—by the way if you are expecting, congratulations to you both. Not unlike you, my wife never fainted until she became pregnant."

She smiled despite her own doubts that such a state might even be attainable, given the conditions on her marriage. "And please forgive my burglary of your foodstocks, sir."

He winked and lifted his glass toward her. "You have my permission to raid my kitchens any time."

Trying not to grimace at his flirting, she nodded. "Good night then, Your Honor." 

Sometime later Erik's hand shot out reflexively, bumping her hip. She looked up from mending his shirt and watched him emerge from a deep sleep.

"Meg," he rasped, his voice painfully hoarse as he realized she was right next to him. With his eyes only half opened he began to lift his head, groaning in pain and sinking back into the pillow.

"I'm here," she soothed, setting aside her mending and reaching for his hand. His fingers threaded gratefully through hers as he gripped her hand with surprising strength. Her heart soared at the gesture as she leaned close to kiss his cheek. "How are you feeling?"

He swallowed with some effort and grimaced. "As if I've been hit by a train," he croaked. 

"You looked it," she teased, hoping to distract him from his pain. "But then you know I'm not too particular about such a trivial matter as one's appearance."

"If you were, we would hardly be having this conversation," he half laughed, half groaned. She watched him bend a knee to raise one leg, only to find it weighed down with blankets.

"Yes, you are wearing a nightshirt so do not think of getting up and leaving."

"How can we be back to this point?" he complained, sliding his leg back down, "me flat on my back and you having to tend to me again?"

She slid her hand around his upper arm, loving the strength she felt in it. "But I like taking care of you," she whispered, squeezing his arm. 

One eye shot open to study her. "Why _is_ that?"

She leaned into him and smiled unashamedly. "It affords me endless opportunities to examine and study you at my leisure."

"_Study _me?" he croaked, "as you would a specimen in a jar?"

"I would do more if ever given the opportunity," she sighed dramatically, "should you give your permission." Unable to resist touching him, she trailed her fingers across his collarbone to the opening of his nightshirt. "Still, you are a fine specimen, nevertheless..."

He laughed abruptly, raising a hand to his head. "Ah—that hurt."

"Try not to laugh—you have a slight concussion."

"If this is 'slight' I hope never to discover the full effect—_specimen_, indeed!"

She laughed for him, sliding down to nestle against his side. He took her wayward hand in his and held it over his heart. Thrilled at the hint of a smile playing about his lips, she sighed contentedly and rested her head upon his shoulder, looking up at him. He squeezed her hand and closed his eyes, joining her in silent appreciation of this moment together. Before long she turned her face against his neck and inhaled the scent that was uniquely his.

"Meg—" he whispered, caressing her fingers with his. But he could not seem to find the words to express whatever he was feeing. Because of this, she felt her throat tighten with emotion as her eyes moistened.

"I thought I'd lost you," she admitted, pulling her hand from his and embracing his waist.

He shifted his arm up and settled her in his embrace, careful to keep his head centered upon the pillow. His fingers trailed slowly up and down her arm until he took a deep breath to speak.

"I was terrified they would go after you again," he sighed, "I couldn't bear even the thought…"

She rose to look down at him, trying to look into his eyes, frustrated by the dim light. "Oh Erik—"

"I'm sorry about what happened in the coach," he whispered, swallowing hard. His hand continued its lazy caress along her arm. "The last thing I wanted to do was stop."

"I know that now," she whispered back, kissing him gently. "You don't have to apologize."

"I had to walk not only for my leg, but also to try to collect myself," he confessed, holding her gaze. "You are so much more difficult to resist than I had anticipated—please forgive me for testing the limits."

She lifted her fingers to his hair, gently folding back a dark lock of hair grazing his temple. "I never believed for one moment that you had changed your mind," she told him.

He stared at her a moment. "About you, or about cooperating with the police?"

She held his shuttered gaze. "The police," she answered truthfully, unable to hide from him her doubts concerning their relationship, which still seemed to teeter upon the precipice of dissolution.

"Then know this," he breathed, pulling her down until she lay sprawled over his chest. One hand pressed against her neck until he had her in position, then he caught and held her lips in a desperate kiss. She slid her hands beneath his shoulders and kissed him back until he coaxed her away, still holding her close. "Were I a free and normal man, we would already be well on our way to starting a family."

"You are both to me," she whispered, pressing against him and teasing him with fleeting kisses. He groaned and closed his eyes tightly even as he gripped her waist.

"I can't even lift my head to kiss you properly—" he complained, closing his eyes against the dim light in the room, which apparently still caused him pain.

"Then by your leave, and with your permission," she whispered against his lips, kissing him with more serious intent. She felt his hand cup the back of her head before he answered her with an ardent kiss which surprised her with its hunger. For a few glorious moments they feasted on the love growing between them but too soon he slowed and withdrew to relax back against his pillow. Once again he seemed to be setting back in place the boundary line he'd built. Telling herself to be patient, she sighed and rested her head next to his, feeling the lazy caress of his fingers in her hair.

"Everything will work out for us, Erik," she told him, smoothing her hand down his chest and resting it over his stomach. He groaned and captured her hand, lifting it to his lips. When he nibbled her fingertips she gasped in surprise at the pleasurable sensation.

"I wish I had your confidence," he admitted, smiling at her shiver as he kissed her palm.

"You will see that I'm right," she sniffed haughtily. 

"May I remind you that the Brothers are still at large," he breathed, bracing his arm along her back as he tugged her higher against his side.

She pushed at his arm and bent to kiss his throat, laughing in soft triumph at the rise of gooseflesh along the side of his neck. "The police will find them—" she said thickly, excited by his teasing. 

"Only if they can trace the reward money—" he gasped, cupping her jaw and directing her lips back to his for a pleasurable, lingering kiss. 

"We must trust their abilities," she sighed against his mouth, finding it hard to concentrate on the direction of their conversation. Her heart thudded and her body thrummed with desire. Stretching over him she planted her forearms upon the mattress to balance over him as their kisses grew more insistent. When a knock sounded on the door they froze, staring into each other' eyes in shock.

"Mme. Destler?" a high voice called hesitantly. Meg shot a glance toward the door and back to her husband.

"It's Claire," he whispered, releasing her as she moved away.

"Just a moment!" she called, looking at him quizzically. "Who's Claire?" she whispered.

"The chambermaid," he answered, watching her climb off the bed and bend to search for her shoes. "It must be morning," he sighed, "time to face the authorities."

"We can have her bring us something to eat before I might try to sneak in a bath or at least unravel the mess of my hair," she said under her breath as she shoved her feet into her shoes.

He frowned. "I like it the way it is."

"Just a moment," she called to the maid, turning to grin at him. "It's partly your fault it looks so wild!" she hissed, "now prepare for a shaft of normal light." With that she opened the door just enough to meet the troubled gaze of a young woman who stood waiting on the other side.

"I'm sorry to disturb you Madame," she said worriedly, "but the Judge has ordered me to move you to an upstairs suite to be more comfortable. When Monsieur is well he can be moved up to join you"

Meg winced. "But we wish to stay together—"

"His physician is due soon, and we have extended an invitation for brunch to your friends, Madame," Claire stated, stretching to look beyond her into the darkened room. "Is Monsieur feeling any better?"

"Somewhat, but moving him is out of the question," Meg insisted. "Perhaps you could bring him something light to eat, an omelette perhaps?"

"Of course, Madame, but the judge insists Monsieur have a luncheon meeting with the police, provided the physician gives his approval."

"But my husband is recovering from a serious head wound—"

"It's all right," Erik called, waving his hand. To her horror, she saw that he had pulled himself up to a sitting position. "I might as well get it over with."

"Erik!" she gasped, rushing to his side and tugging up his pillows. "Keep your head supported before you pass out."

Claire helped her settle him into a half reclining position, after which he lowered his chin and breathed deeply, obviously fighting nausea. "You are in no condition to be questioned by the police!" she insisted, keeping her voice low. "Please Claire, tell the judge he needs more time."

"Oui, Madame," she nodded, turning to pour a glass of water for him. "I can see that he is not."

"I feel helpless," Erik sighed, "not to mention ridiculous!"

"Oh?" Meg answered, planting her hands on her hips and ignoring Claire's concealed smile. "How well does your head feel?"

He frowned ominously. "I'll manage."

Studying the lines of pain creasing his forehead, she shook her head. "You never seem to know when you need to rest!"

"At least I didn't faint," he teased, his lips curving into a smile. "Though it does pain me to have sickened you by my appearance enough to coax that kind of reaction from you."

"There was quite a lot of blood, as is typical of head wounds," she admitted, "but I fainted from the hours I spent worrying and combing the countryside without sustenance, looking for you."

He closed his eyes and leaned back. "I would have liked to have seen that…" 

Meg nodded to Claire, who left to carry out her orders. "I might consider a repeat performance," she teased, leaning toward him after making sure the door was closed. "But only if you rest."

He reached for her hand and pulled her down next to him. "If you rest _with _me," he said huskily.

"Now that is an offer I cannot refuse," she answered, sliding onto the mattress close to him. "But we will be interrupted yet again," she sighed, leaning in to kiss him softly. He closed his eyes, his lips poised for another kiss which she could not resist bestowing.

"Is Monsieur feeling better?" Claire asked as she set the tray upon a bedside table and smiled at Meg.

Trying to ignore the pounding in his head, Erik had to admit that the absence of sharp, stabbing pains and inability to tolerate light qualified as feeling better. Still, he dared not turn his head too far in either direction, though the delicious fragrance of an omelette was filling the room. His stomach rumbled as he heard silver tinkle and watched Meg drape a cloth napkin over his lap. They shared a secret smile behind the chambermaid's back and he considered himself blessed to have even a taste of what a truly intimate relationship might promise. Beyond that simple gesture he dared not hope. At least not yet.

"Cook has been careful to provide food which can be eaten with minimal effort," Claire announced, setting a heavy plate upon the napkin after making sure he steadied it with one hand. "Petite omelette, toasted honey bread, fruit salade and tea," she said with a flourish. "Or perhaps you prefer coffee?"

"Tea is fine, thank you," he said, attempting to meet her waiting gaze. "I doubt I've ever enjoyed such excellent service."

She blushed and smiled shyly, completely unaware of the years he'd spent in total isolation. "I am happy to serve, Monsieur," she said, moving to the foot of the bed so he could better see her. "Would you like anything else?"

"I would prefer joining my wife and the others in the dining room," he answered, shifting his attention to Meg. He had rather enjoyed their intimate moments together and found himself craving the sight of her more and more.

"Oh no, monsieur!" she gasped. "We all have strict orders to keep you in bed, even if against your will!"

"That seems to be on everyone's mind, of late," he said dryly, noting his wife's mischievous grin. She was turning into a gifted flirt, not that he was complaining.

"Oh, no!" Claire gasped, covering her mouth in embarrassment. "I meant for your health and wellbeing—"

"My husband's teasing is a sign that he is feeling better," Meg interjected, snatching a slice of toast from his plate and biting off the edge.

"I believe that was intended for me," Erik stated, focusing on the toast yet smiling to himself. He was immensely pleased that she felt that much at ease with him to share his food. 

She pouted at him. "But I only wanted a taste—" taking another bite nevertheless.

"I understand, Madame," Claire blushed, tidying the other tabletop and glancing at the toast in her hand. "If you wish I could bring your breakfast in here as well, yet your friends are due momentarily…"

There was a knock before the door opened without a pause. "How is our patient today?" a man interrupted as he poked his head into the room. Bespectacled and bearded, he admitted himself into the suite. "Sitting up and eating—" he answered himself, "a very good sign!"

"Dr. Licho," Claire greeted him, glancing at Erik. "Judge Miller's physician," she added before turning to the physician. "Mon. Erik has rested comfortably for most of the morning, under the care of his wife."

"Has he?" the doctor stated, coming to the foot of the bed and nodding to Meg. He set his bag upon the bed and opened it. "Rest is imperative for recovering from a head wound—I hope you do not mind a quick examination, at Judge Miller's request of course?"

Erik swallowed a forkful of the fluffy omelette, finding the taste delicious. "If he insists."

"My brother and a mutual friend tended him last night," Meg offered. "They are both physicians." 

"So I was informed," Dr. Licho nodded, straightening and looking at Erik. "I only follow orders, you understand."

"Please excuse me, I must return to my duties," Claire said, touching the bell cord. "Pull this if you need anything, and someone will come right away."

"Thank you," both men answered at the same time, and Erik met Meg's amused glance. In that moment it was clear who was in charge.

Dr. Licho lifted a small instrument and approached Erik's side as Claire closed the door behind her. After a moment's hesitation he pulled his gaze from the deformed side of his patient's face and bent toward him, gazing into his eyes. "First I would like to examine your pupils and eye coordination, then check the wound and get you some painkillers…" 

Erik felt his plate drawn from his lap and heard Meg set it upon the tray. There was a swoosh of fabric and he sensed her dismissing herself as the doctor peered into his eyes, one firm hand planted upon his shoulder.

"I had better tidy myself up before I meet the others," Meg stated, going to the door.

"I will see you later," he answered, unable to turn his head toward her. There was only the sound of the door closing before he was left alone with the doctor. 

"How is he?" Louise asked as soon as Meg entered the dining room. Half rising from her seat at the dining table, she held out her arms to embrace her. Meg went to her and hugged her mother, more glad for her presence than she anticipated. Pulling out the chair next to her, she greeted the other and sat down. "I have been so worried," Louise added, "about both of you."

"We all have," Pieter added, unfurling his napkin as the waiter began to pour him a glass of water.

"He is still in pain, but is sitting up and taking a light meal," she replied, glancing at Ben's frown. "Dr. Licho is with him now." 

"We came in with him," he informed her. "And you look much better yourself."

"The police kept me hostage at the inn," Louise complained, sipping her water. "They told me everything but refused to let me come, using my safety as an excuse to keep me out of their hair!"

"They would have treated us the same had we not barged right in," Ben smirked, gazing longingly at the plate of eggs offered first to his mother.

"We wanted to examine Erik but were not allowed," Pieter added, "yet I have been summoned to their meeting with him when the inspector arrives."

Louise swallowed a bite of fruit and glanced toward the threshold. "Apparently the judge is not joining us for brunch?" she wondered, eyeing his wait staff.

"He sends his regrets," the older servant answered, straightening after Pieter chose a helping of greens. "He is busy preparing for the meeting as we speak."

"I hope they do not keep Erik too long," Meg worried, glancing at Pieter. "He still looks quite pale and exhausted, even after a good night's sleep."

"His captors probably withheld water and food," he guessed, "and that blow to the head will take a few days to heal, but don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him during the meeting."

"That could be why you were invited," Ben shrugged, "as well as to vouch for my dear brother-in-law." 

Louise reached over to squeeze Meg's arm, her smile a mixture of relief and joy. "Don't worry, _petite_," she said softly, "Erik is a very strong man." 

"A character reference is vital in determining sentencing," Pieter agreed, "and I intend to support Erik in any way that I can."

"Let's just pray they understand him," Meg said, tasting the eggs herself.

"And that the judge will be lenient," Ben added.

"Well, I for one am glad this whole thing is finally going to be resolved," Louise stated, "for all our sakes."

Out in the foyer they heard voices and footsteps approaching, and they looked at each other in apprehension. The elderly servant left as his fellow waiter poured their coffee.

"I believe the inspector has arrived," Ben said with his mouth half full.

"We may have to offer them brunch," their server said as if thinking aloud. His face, Meg noted, was quite drawn and she wondered what the Buquet brothers had put him and the rest of the staff through when they invaded the mansion.

"Go if you must," Louise waved in dismissal, "we can manage for ourselves."

He nodded and left while they ate in silence, distracted by the group of policemen just beyond their sight. After some time applause and cheering broke out, apparently in celebration. Detective Gilbert entered, lifting a hand in greeting.

"Good morning, or is it afternoon?" he said, smiling in greeting. Inspector Leger and the judge entered as well, followed by a dozen or so policemen. They filled the spacious dining room and effectively halted all eating, at least for the moment. Without preamble the judge raised both hands and smiled.

"The Buquet brothers have been captured!" he announced, waiting for the applause to quiet before he continued. "They are currently on their way back to Paris in the custody of the Suisse police."

Meg rose and pushed back her chair. "When did this happen? Has anyone told Erik?" 

"We will shortly," Inspector Leger smiled, nodding to her. She was astounded at how the expression changed him, and judging by the open mouthed stare her mother directed to him, he seemed to realize it as well. "Yesterday they entered a Suisse bank and attempted to exchange the reward money," he continued. "The clerk thought the currency suspicious and secretly summoned the manager. Before long they determined the money counterfeit and were able to delay them until the police arrived. We were contacted this morning and have arranged to meet their escort—they should arrive before dark and will be held in the city jail."

"Thank the Lord!" Pieter said, clasping Ben's shoulder.

Louise hugged Meg, who slumped against her mother in relief. "That is wonderful news," she admitted, her spirits dampened by fear of what fate awaited Erik at their meeting.

"We can all surely rest easily now," her mother sighed.

"Excellent work, Inspector," the judge declared. "This bodes well for your department, sir."

Leger pulled out his watch and looked up. "It's time we inform their latest victim," he told the judge before directing his gaze back to them. "After our meeting we must take formal statements from each one of you. Once they are in custody and we have interrogated them we will hold a private hearing, probably at midday tomorrow if the judge is free. After that you are free to return to your homes, with the exception of Mme. Destler."

"Please remain at the mansion until we are finished," Gilbert added, turning to leave.

"Enjoy the rest of your meal," the judge added. "If you need anything at all my staff is available, now if you will excuse us, we bid you good day."

Inspector Leger turned toward Pieter. "Join us, please?"

Pieter got up as Meg went to the inspector's side. "May I see my husband, Inspector?"

"Of course," he answered, "but I would prefer family remain here while we do business. Rest assured that if he shows any sign of ill health we will postpone the discussions until later."

"The sooner we get this over with the better," Judge Miller added, coming toward them. "He'll have a full day tomorrow at the hearing, as will you all."

"Then he must have a good night's sleep," Pieter advised, glancing at Meg. "Make him do so, for his own good."

"I will try," she nodded, following him into the foyer behind the judge's lead. "And please, just keep praying," she whispered, taking his offered arm.

_c. 2007 by Christine Levitt_


	33. Chapter 33 The Meeting

_**Chapter 33 The Meeting **_

"They are in custody?" Erik asked, hardly believing the news. They crowded into his darkened room, yet he could see the quiet joy in Meg's expression and the relief in Pieter's. Even Judge Miller and Leger both looked pleased.

"You look worried, Destler," Detective Gilbert said tightly.

Erik held his accusing look for a moment. "Frankly, I am amazed they were so easily captured."

Leger shoved his hands into his pockets. "Thieves get careless when they become proud," he stated. "But you can trust the Swiss police to deliver them without incident."

He felt Meg's hand slide over his "Maybe then we can finally have some peace," she said quietly.

He squeezed her hand, his eyes on the judge. "Now that you have delivered the news, I am eager to hear your decision."

"All right," he answered, seating himself at the foot of the bed. "We will get right to the matter of your sentencing—"

"What, without any trial?" Erik quipped, trying to withhold his sarcasm.

"Don't be ridiculous—that would only invite mobs of rioting," Miller answered, glancing at Leger.

"He's right, I'm afraid," Leger frowned, folding himself into the upholstered chair.

"You will work through your probation in a year of service to the community," the Judge declared while Meg threaded her fingers through his. "You are required to report to Inspector Leger on a quarterly basis at his headquarters; any failure to appear will constitute a violation of probation punishable either by a stiff fine or extension of your probation, as Inspector Leger sees fit. I have asked the reverend here to vouch for your character and assume any legal responsibility in that event."

"I can vouch for him," Pieter said, taking the document Gilbert handed him. Bending toward the dim lamp, he scanned its contents before looking up. "Everything seems to be in order, Erik."

Erik shook his head cynically. "No trial, no rights as a citizen to appeal…why does that not surprise me?"

"This is the best solution I can offer, given your circumstances," Judge Miller complained, avoiding his gaze.

Erik nodded curtly. "And what, may I ask, is the service you wish me to perform?"

"We will get to that in a moment," he answered, glancing meaningfully toward Meg. Feeling her withdraw her hand, Erik nevertheless trailed his fingers along hers before she did so. "Don't worry," the judge added, "it will be centered in Paris—that way we can keep our eyes on you."

"Must we live in the city?" Meg asked hesitantly, glancing at Erik. "Surely you realize the risk to both of us."

Leger sat forward in his chair. "You must only maintain a legal residence there; you are free to come and go as you wish," he answered her before turning his attention back to Erik. "Provided you keep our scheduled appointments."

"Am I free to travel?" Erik asked, his head beginning to throb more insistently. He resisted the temptation to brace his hand over his forehead to massage the pain and pressure he felt.

"It will be required, to some extent," Judge Miller stated, looking to Meg as if in dismissal. "We must discuss the details of that next."

She rested her hand upon his shoulder, and Erik felt her squeeze of protest. "I am concerned for our safety, Your Honor; with all the publicity surrounding the fire, it will be difficult for us—"

"We have already made arrangements to see that you are protected at all times," Leger informed her.

"Men have been assigned to guard you day and night," Gilbert smiled reassuringly.

"For an entire year?" she wanted to know. Erik reached for her hand again.

"My wife should not have to suffer in this manner," he protested, "she is not to be treated like a prisoner."

"It is, unfortunately, the best arrangement we can offer you," Leger sympathized. "The city is divided over your case, and should anyone discover the fact that you have married, your wife could be in danger."

Erik sighed greatly, unable to argue with his logic. "I assume your men will treat her honorably, and respect her right to some amount of privacy?"

"Yes, of course," Leger agreed, glancing up at Gilbert. They nodded in confirmation.

"You will appreciate the effort most when you must be out of town on travel," Judge Miller replied, glancing at Meg once again. "And now if you will excuse us, Madame," he smiled at her. "We must discuss the details in private. You understand, of course."

Turning his head as little as possible, Erik looked up at her. "I'm sorry," he said gently, watching her step away from his side.

"Of course," she answered, disappointment evident in her tone. "But don't keep him too long, please."

"Have you taken any of this?" Pieter asked, his eyes upon the label of the small bottle he had lifted from the bedside table.

"Not yet—"

"Then it's time—" he said, reaching to pour a glass of water. "I can tell you're in pain."

"Take whatever you need to get through at least an hour," Judge Miller advised, eyeing Meg. "If you do not, we will just have to come back later."

Erik took the glass into which Pieter had mixed the laudanum. Staring into it a moment, he sighed with resignation and drank the contents, handing it back to Pieter. "Satisfied?"

"I am," the judge barked, moving toward Leger as the policemen drew out their paperwork from Gilbert's attaché case.

Erik felt Meg touch his ruined cheek before she bent close. Their eyes locked before she kissed him on the lips, taking no care for the fact that others were present.

"I will be back later," she said softly, her gaze lingering.

Honored yet painfully aware of the interested glances from the other men, Erik watched her pull her gaze from his and turn to leave. Once she had, turned slowly faced their silent regard.

"My wife also suspects some hidden agenda," he began, sighing and meeting each stony expression. "Please, gentlemen—you are now at liberty to tell the truth."

Leger glanced meaningfully at the judge, who seated himself by the bed.

"The inspector told me you might be too clever to fool," Judge Miller sighed. "This is going to be tricky, but I think we can manage it."

"Then it's not the janitorial position I was expecting," Erik surmised.

"Hardly," Leger laughed under his breath while Gilbert crossed his arms.

"This is serious, monsieur—" the judge warned, "and by the way, your little wife is to know nothing about this, nor can anyone but those present in this room."

Not liking his reference to Meg, Erik crossed his arms. "My wife has a legal right to anything which concerns me."

"He's right, Your Honor," Pieter spoke up. "But we had a long talk last night Erik; if you will indulge us, however, I think you might be pleased by what you hear."

"All right—please continue," Erik said coolly to the judge.

"What we have in mind for your service is politically sensitive in nature," Miller began, "and might involve a bit of danger."

Erik was stunned. "I entertain no political interests, nor do I desire any more danger than I've already encountered. You tempt me to reconsider turning myself in, _Your Honor_."

Undeterred by his objections, the judge smiled knowingly. "That, sir, is why you are perfect for the job."

Erik transferred his attention to Pieter. "Could you please elaborate upon the reason why you believe I might find this job pleasing?"

"Purely for reasons of identification, Erik," he answered.

The judge cleared his throat. "As you are no doubt aware, the city faces innumerable problems due to its scores of homeless and refugee peoples."

"Having been in their ranks myself, yes," Erik answered tightly. "I am well aware."

"Certain political entities have come forward of late, exerting a great deal of pressure upon us to do something about it," the judge continued, holding Leger's intent stare. "By way of response, we have entertained a solution of sorts…a way of diverting the public's attention from these unfortunate souls."

"And with your experience being foremost in our minds," Leger interjected, "we realized the potential of the underground network beneath the opera house."

"I am honored to be of service," Erik said blandly.

"Imagine the benefits of establishing a program of assistance headquartered there, as well as the resultant reduction of crime by getting these people off the streets," Miller elaborated.

"And the opera managers have agreed to this?" Erik countered.

"We will try our best to convince them of the long range benefits to be had," Leger hedged.

"Or else what—prevent the opera from reopening by seeing to it that their building permits are never granted?" Erik guessed.

"You were right, Leger," Judge Miller chuckled, "he has more foresight than our superiors."

"I have yet to see how _I_ might fit within this scheme," Erik sighed, "although it would be enjoyable to watch the managers being forced into capitulation by working with the police."

"With your knowledge of the intricate subterranean networks, added to your personal experience in meeting needs outside the realm of normal society, who would better know how to establish and direct such a work?" Miller continued.

"I have only had to see to my own needs," Erik objected.

"Imagine sharing all your knowledge with others, offering something better than the harsh realities of life on the streets."

"Living off the streets does not necessarily alleviate those same harsh realities."

"It would help avert the civil unrest such a life breeds," Leger pointed out.

"And you could take revenge upon the very organizations which failed you so dismally," Miller said enthusiastically.

"Not to mention diverting the rising anti-Semitism directed toward the Jewish refugees," Leger added.

"There you have it, and entire social welfare reform package," Miller concluded with a smile. "How could you resist?"

Pieter shrugged his shoulders. "It would certainly provide you with a challenge, Erik."

"Politics and law enforcement, mixed in with religion?" Erik replied. "Gentlemen, you have not only sadly misjudged my abilities, but underestimated the danger such a combination would surely invite."

Leger nodded. "It is true that the plan would clearly challenge the existing structures."

"Not just challenge, but weaken their power and control, exposing their ineffectiveness," Erik warned.

"I knew this man was brilliant the first time I saw him!" Miller said to Leger.

"But sir, we have only just met," Erik objected.

"Hardly," the judge corrected, "I was at the premiere of Don Juan. Your experience convinced me that I was not, as I had previously believed, aware of all the injustices of our society. Had you not fled the city I would have already offered you a much more promising future than running from the law. Not to mention the fact that I am, I must confess, one of your biggest fans."

Erik lowered his gaze, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. The medication was already pulling at him, weakening his resolve against all they proposed. "How comforting…" he croaked, raising a hand to his aching head.

"Erik, think about Aaron and Esther, and their children," Pieter said, laying a hand on his shoulder when he had not been aware of his approach. "I sense that in his you are being called to greater things."

He glanced up, then met the judge's waiting gaze. "They will be suspicious of any sudden, government sponsored relief program…unless perhaps it might take the form of an underground network of sorts."

"Word of mouth, excellent," Miller encouraged. "Go on."

Erik remembered the fascinating accounts he had read of in the library long after closing hours. "Perhaps modeled after the underground railroad of slaves in America."

"And for the Jewish refugees, it would be a haven from persecution, as well as from war," Pieter added.

Leger looked thoughtful. "We could call it the French Underground."

"We cannot ignore certain foreign agents already working in that capacity," Miller said to Leger. "He will need to meet with them outside the country. That way we will be sure everything remains confidential."

"A face to face rendezvous can be arranged, but abroad," the inspector answered.

_What is going on here? _Erik wondered. _Do they actually envision me as an international diplomat? _While his mind raced his body was heavy from the influence of the drug. "Gentlemen," he had to protest, "this is far beyond my capabilities—"

"He would need to be very careful," Leger told the judge, completely ignoring him. "Particularly in light of the recent breach of security in the department."

"Not to mention the fact that the city is torn between loving him and hating him," Miller mused. "No, everything must be done using the utmost confidentiality. We need to somehow be in touch with each other should any threats present themselves."

Erik fell silent, his protests unheeded. As he fought to stay awake he prayed inwardly for wisdom. Suddenly the judge turned to face him.

"That settles it—you have one day to consider what we have discussed; if you refuse we will have no recourse but to send you to prison, to solitary confinement."

Erik closed his eyes in defeat. _Prison…what would happen to Meg?_

"I will need to know tomorrow, after the hearing," Leger added.

"All right," Erik sighed as he remembered their warning to keep the matter of his probation a secret, even from his wife. "I will consider what you have said."

When Pieter came out of Erik's room and she had said her goodbyes, Meg leaned back against the wall, wrung out and on edge. She wished that she and Erik could have left with them, but by Pieter's brief report Erik was already asleep. Despite the vacant silence of their luxurious surroundings and a very attentive staff, she longed for their simple room at the inn among family and friends. But it was only one more day, she told herself as she heard footsteps. Claire was coming back inside and she smiled in greeting, welcoming the distraction from her thoughts. 

"They are safely off," Claire announced, dipping into a curtsy as she faced Meg. 

"Thanks to you and the others," she answered, trying not to wince at the formal gesture. Had they met under different circumstances, she sensed they would very likely be friends.

"Did you enjoy your time with family and Mon. deGraaf?" Claire asked.

"Yes, very much," she answered, walking away from the windows. "Though Mon. deGraaf spent most of the time with my husband."

Claire nodded, her expression troubled. "It was a lengthy meeting, but I believe he is resting now."

Meg nodded. "Were you the one to bring them dinner?"

"Oui, Madame--I just returned the trays to the kitchen…he hardly ate a thing, though Cook prepared a lighter meal for him."

"Did he seem well?"

Claire frowned. "It seemed that his head was causing some pain, but that is to be expected considering…"

At that moment a door down the hall opened and the judge ushered the inspector and his detective out of his office. Watching them expectantly, Meg touched Claire's arm as they waited to see what would happen next. After a brief glance in their direction the men walked down the opposite corridor, and Meg felt Claire relax somewhat.

"They are finally leaving," Meg breathed, switching her gaze back to Erik's closed door.

Claire seemed to come to her senses and gestured toward the stairs. "The judge has asked me to show you to your upstairs suite, Madame."

"That is very kind of you, but I wish to stay with my husband."

Claire bit her lower lip but smiled somewhat nervously. "You need not worry—we will take good care of him—"

"Please, Claire." Their eyes held and not for the first time Meg sensed that something was amiss in this household. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she decided to go along with the plan, at least for Claire's sake. "All right, show me the way to this suite," she agreed.

As they climbed the staircase she had to admit the mansion was spacious and elegantly furnished. The walls were covered with rich brocade and portraiture of generations of Millers gazed somberly down from their oil painted gilt framed windows. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Claire led the way to the first set of double doors on their left. Grasping the ornately carved doorknob she slowly opened the door, allowing Meg to precede her into the suite.

Surprised by the welcoming scene before her, Meg slowed her steps, admiring the beautifully decorated room. It was furnished in muted tones of cream and sea green, and the faint scent of fresh flowers and burning candles hung in the air. Her eyes were drawn to the large bed sitting atop a platform, its curtains secured at the posts to display a lavish assortment of pillows piled upon the satin coverlet. The linens were turned down to the place where a filmy dressing gown and robe were laid out. Feeling a bit uneasy, she turned to Claire.

"It is beautiful," she replied, noting the pleasure in Claire's expression.

"I arranged it myself," she answered shyly. "Is there anything missing that you might desire, Madame?"

_A husband… _Mentally shaking herself, Meg smiled. "Whose room is this, Claire?"

"It belongs to Judge Miller's oldest daughter: she and her husband lived at home for a year when they were first married."

Meg walked toward a closed door, touching the cold brass handle. "What is in here?"

"The adjoining suite, but I am afraid—"

Opening the door, Meg halted as she stared into the darkened room. It was by contrast masculine in décor, the colors slate grey and navy. Though tastefully designed and richly furnished, it was cold and uninviting. Eerily aware of its closed invitation, she stepped back and closed the door, turning to face Claire.

"It's not ready for my husband," she said softly, her eyes holding Claire's, who swallowed nervously.

"No, Madame," she admitted quietly. "I was told only to prepare your suite."

Meg straightened and lifted her chin. "I appreciate everything you've done, Claire, but I must decline," she stated, walking toward the door. "My husband's suite is quite adequate; now I wish to return to his side."

"But His Honor insisted," Claire whispered, following her out into the hall. "He said Mon. Erik needed his rest, but that you would be more comfortable up here."

Happy to hear the door closing behind them, Meg continued toward the stairs. "We are not wealthy, Claire," she called back over her shoulder. "Hence neither of us require such luxuries—"

"But Madame—"

Meg turned on the stairs and waited until Claire caught up with her. "As you know I am more concerned for my husband's health than my own comfort," she insisted, continuing down. "I take full responsibility for disobeying your orders. Please tell your head housekeeper—"

"But there is no one—just the judge," Claire told her. "And he insisted."

Pasting a fake smile upon her face, Meg descended the stairs with Claire at her side, not pausing until they both stood outside Erik's door. "I am sure the judge will understand, Claire. Please thank him for his concern, and tell him I suggest he contact his daughter and her husband for a visit."

Claire watched her gently open the door, reluctant acceptance in her expression. "As you wish, Madame..." 

"Erik?" she whispered as she closed the door silently and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. Not wishing to awaken him, she tiptoed to the bed. "Are you awake?"

Listening to the slow sound of his breathing, she waited. As if sensing her, he lifted his hand, waiting until she clasped it between hers. "You back?" he whispered groggily.

She leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "How do you feel?"

"Headache," he sighed, squeezing her hand. "…sorry."

She gently touched his brow, finding it cool. "Would you like something for the pain?"

"Already took somethin'…"

She laid his hand on the bed and turn away, quickly stripping down to her chemise. With a finger comb of her hair she turned and climbed up onto the mattress, settling at his side. She nestled her head against his shoulder and twined an arm over his waist. "I can hardly wait until you're better and this is all over."

"Hmmm," he sighed, slowly turning his head toward her. After a moment she heard his soft whisper. "Wha's wrong?"

"Nothing…I'm sorry I woke you up—"

"You didn't…it's the medication."

"Don't fight it, Erik—you need to rest."

After a moment, he squeezed her hand. "Somethin's wrong," he whispered. "I can tell."

She stared at his profile a moment, then breathed out a tense sigh. "They prepared an upstairs suite for me, but nothing for you. I think the judge wants to keep us apart—"

"He'll be disappointed."

She smiled and hugged his waist. "I insisted that someone must stay with you to make sure you're all right."

"Good," he sighed, "but only you."

"I'm honored, sir," she laughed softly, "I believe I will—now go to sleep and let me do my duty."

"One more thing…"

"Do you need some water, or something more to eat? Claire said you hardly ate—"

"A kiss," he whispered, smiling but keeping his head still as he waited.

"Then a kiss it shall be," she whispered, wishing the light were better and that she could look into his magnificent eyes. "I shall be happy to get one for you, sir," she added, placing her palm over his heart.

He closed his eyes and waited, but at her delay he half opened one eye. "Well?"

She chuckled and touched his cheek, bestowing a soft kiss upon his slightly parted lips. "There," she breathed, "one goodnight kiss."

He smiled and kept his eyes closed. "Another," he whispered, "please."

She bent and kissed his lips with soft, lingering kisses. After a moment she felt the touch of his hand at the back of her head. She felt loved and cherished, but when his hand fell away and he settled back with a satisfied sigh she stretched along his side, nestling her head against his neck. His arm came up around her shoulders as he held her.

"Now tell me what has disturbed you so."

She stiffened but squeezed his waist. "It's nothing...go back to sleep."

"Tell me."

"You worry too much, Erik."

He sighed tiredly. "When I cannot be with you I must...besides, you are hiding something."

She stretched her head back to look at him, thinking it a rare gift to have a man so attuned to her every thought. "I just want to go away with you," she stated, "away from everyone else."

He reached for her hand, toying gently with her ring. "You mean the judge."

Staring at him a moment, she nodded. "Yes…how did you know?"

"I don't like the way he looks at you," he breathed. "Has he acted inappropriately toward you? Said anything to you?"

She thought a moment. "I'm not sure...not really."

"Yet he makes you uncomfortable."

"Yes but I don't know why, or if I am imagining something..."

"Does he frighten you?"

"I'm not a little girl, Erik."

"I wasn't implying that you were."

She sighed greatly. "His behavior was a bit strange when he found me in the kitchen last night…"

"Were you alone?"

"Yes," she said, propping her head upon her hand. "When I awoke you were sleeping soundly. I was so hungry I had to get something, so I raided the kitchen."

He gasped. "Mme. Destler—I am truly shocked."

"But I was hungry! I hadn't eaten—"

"I am teasing—" he interrupted, catching her hand and pulling it back to his chest. "But I do worry about you wandering alone through a strange house in the middle of the night."

"Well he caught me eating—he just suddenly appeared—I never heard him coming."

"Go on."

"He stood closer than I anticipated, though I made sure he didn't notice how nervous I felt...as soon as I could I rushed back here and locked the door."

"While I slept through it all," he sighed. "I'm sorry…"

"No, I'm glad you slept--Pieter has been complaining about how they've all kept you up for questioning and meetings."

He closed his eyes again. "Pieter objected tonight, but it fell on deaf ears…though I admit we had much to discuss."

"Are you going to tell me what it was about?"

"Not right now," he groaned, pulling her head back to his shoulder. "Except to tell you that I was offered terms of probation."

"Which are?"

"Not completely outlined," he sighed. "I have been cautioned against discussing it, even with you."

"I understand, Erik…though I confess to being wildly curious."

"In time, love…but one thing is sure," he told her with a deep sigh. "We are not staying here another day…I promise you that." 

c. 2008 by Christine Levitt


	34. Chapter 34 Renewed Vows

_**Chapter 36 Renewed Vows**_

Inspector Leger shook Erik's hand, eyeing the bandage covering half his face. "I had thought the bruising was sufficiently faded last night."

Erik glanced toward Meg, seeing the tension in her and thankful that her mother was by her side, winding an arm around her shoulders. "This is just my mask for the day," he answered distractedly.

"We thought it might be a good idea," Pieter added, shaking Leger's hand. "This way Erik looks like just another victim of the streets."

Leger nodded, motioning toward the courtroom. "Go on in—we'll join you momentarily."

Worriedly studying Meg's stiff posture, Erik frowned ominously. _I should be at her side, helping her to be strong. _

Pieter leaned closer. "Don't worry, we'll take good care of her until you're free," he said before following after her. 

Erik saw Ben raise a hand in greeting across the distance separating him. Nodding back, he watched him offer his arm before he steered both women toward their seats. But just before they disappeared inside she turned to look back at him, her expression filled with longing. Louise spotted him as well and stopped short, whispering to Meg before she came back toward him. He smiled encouragingly to her before she continued in, then turned his attention to Louise. Coming quickly to greet him, she gripped his arm and turned him aside.

"I have something for you," she said quietly, glancing around them as she pulled a small envelope from her pocket. This she held out to him, all the while looking up at him expectantly. There was something in her eyes that was calming, and he studied her in silence as he took the envelope and slipped it into his own pocket.

"A friend has offered you his home for a few days, while he is out of town," she explained, smiling and nodding to a passer by. "Everything has been arranged: Pieter and Ben will drive you both there on their way back to the parish."

"I don't understand," he said quietly, shaking his head. He had no idea how this day would end, for no details had been given him. The judge seemed confident that a conviction would hold and his future was to be orchestrated according to his parole contract, but as far as his life with Meg was concerned he had not even dared to hope they would be allowed to leave together.

"Don't worry, Erik; the inspector and I made a little deal," she whispered, patting his shoulder. "She will feel safe there, and no one will disturb you, trust me."

Hardly believing his ears, he nevertheless nodded, his gaze moving back toward the courtroom. "Has she been there before?" he asked quietly, feeling the pull of Leger's gaze.

"Many times—Rosalie and Dr. Hommes are her godparents," Louise informed him. "They are attending a medical convention. Oh, be sure to read the note they left for you on the dining room table. It's important."

He nodded and turned toward Leger, but she gripped his lapel and rose to her toes, kissing his cheek. Stunned, Erik looked down at her upturned face as she slowly lowered herself back down.

"I always loved you, Erik," she said softly, her eyes tearing. "I am sorry I never told you that before."

He nodded slowly, gripping her gloved hand. "And I you," he choked, overcome with emotion. "Thank you, for all you've done.."

She glanced down at his tie and straightened it, patting his chest. "Take good care of her, Erik…don't let old wounds prevent you from allowing her to love you."

With that astounding statement she turned, leaving him to Leger, who came to his side. Together they turned toward Judge Miller, who stood waiting for them in the corridor. As they started toward him the judge frowned at the sight of his bandages.

"Allow the good doctor to treat you, and you will no longer need to resort to such costuming," he said irritably, starting down the hall toward his chambers.

Mildly offended, Erik nearly laughed at the judge's ridiculously large black gown, whose sleeves he kept pushing back in order to open his door. "I won't even pretend to know what you mean," he quipped, meeting Leger's warning gaze.

Opening the door, the judge waved for them to enter. "Meet him at his convention and let him have a go at your surgery," he said under his breath, closing the door and staring up at him. "You are going to need a presentable face for that premiere of yours."

"We should be going in," Leger prompted, scowling at the judge's manner.

"Surely you know the mob will demand your presence when _Don Juan_ premieres this fall, but no one must recognize you beforehand."

Erik shook his head. "I have no intention of being anywhere near—"

"If you do not there will be a riot!" Miller protested, looking to Leger for support.

"He's right, Erik," Leger sighed. "There will be no controlling the crowds unless they get one last look at their phantom, just to settle the score."

"We will discuss this at a later date, but have the surgery," Miller advised, ignoring Erik's confused expression. "You can roam the city with complete anonymity and be a great deal safer—think about it, if only for your wife's sake."

"I beg your pardon," Erik said ominously, "but I happen to know nothing about any doctor or surgery—"

"Please, gentlemen," Leger interrupted, gesturing toward the direction of the courtroom. "Let's just handle one day at a time, shall we?"

"Thank you," Erik answered tightly, "and we _will_ discuss this, at a later date."

"No need to be angry," Judge Miller said innocently. "We are only trying to help you settle your affairs and start a new life."

Clenching his jaw to keep from replying, Erik took the paper Leger handed him and began to read his statements. When he was satisfied that everything was in order he picked up a pen and signed it. The judge picked up his portfolio and lead the way toward the courtroom. "I'll be glad when this part is over," he sighed dramatically."

The courtroom was large but filled with less than a dozen people, It was easy to spot Meg and his small group of supporters, but the other people present were completely unfamiliar to him. Detective Gilbert escorted him to a seat at the front where his lawyer waited, his expression relieved at seeing him. Meg forced a nervous smile and Louise nodded with characteristic composure. Everyone stood until the judge seated himself, but several policemen remained standing along the opposite wall, their expressions stern as they guarded a table strewn with files and various objects not doubt to be used as evidence. Shoving aside his irritation with the judge, he seated himself as well, listening to the long list of crimes against the accused as he focused upon the two scraggly looking victims of today's proceedings.

The Buquet brothers were seated to Erik's left, their hands and feet shackled with chains as they glared over at him. He nodded back with a smile, taking some enjoyment from seeing them in bonds. But when Josef's brother turned his head toward Meg he tensed, gripping the arms of his chair. The man smiled at her and then at Erik, licking his lips before he was shoved in the shoulder and encouraged to face front. Erik nodded to the two officers seated directly behind them.

"Let's get right to business," the judge began, addressing them. "Mons. Buquet, you have heard the list of crimes for which you have been called here by your female accusers, as well as by the gentleman, Mon.—"

"That's no gentleman," Josef Buquet yelled, turning to point at Erik. "That's none other than the Phantom of the Opera—"

At this statement the room burst into shouts of protest and gasps of horror, necessitating a call to order by the judge. "Order! There is no one here by that name, order!"

"But it is! That's the notorious Opera Ghost—" Buquet snarled, "the _real_ criminal in this courtroom!" 

"Order!" the judge called, waving to the policemen behind them, who rose to their feet and clamped a restraining hand on each man's shoulder. "No you, sirs, are the objects of this hearing!" Miller thundered. "And if you cannot refrain from manipulating this hearing you will be removed without its benefit!"

As the room quieted Leger stood and calmly approached them, nodding to his men in thanks. Leaning a hand upon the table at which they sat, he leaned toward Josef Buquet and smiled cynically. "It is now clear that you admit being acquainted your accuser."

"Your Honour, I must object," Erik's lawyer said, lifting hand toward the judge in supplication. "My client is not the one being charged here!"

"This has relevance to the case," the judge said, waving the objection away. "Continue, Inspector."

"He's the beast who hanged me!" Josef accused. "Strung me from the rafters he did, dangled me down before the audience in Act 2 before he dropped me! I'm lucky to be alive!"

Leger glanced toward Erik. "Is this accusation true, Monsieur?"

"Not exactly, Inspector," Erik smiled sarcastically, ignoring his lawyer's whispered protestations about implicating himself. "I hung him by a wire beneath his arms, and it was from the catwalk, a lesser distance and one which would harm only a small child."

"May we ask why you would do such a thing?"

"To teach him a lesson."

"And what lesson was that?"

Erik stared coolly toward Buquet. "He forced himself in countless unwelcome advances upon the young women of the opera staff," he stated, "tried his best to inebriate them with hard liquor and needed to be convinced that such behavior was to no longer be tolerated."

"He threatened to kill me!" Josef shouted. "He drugged me, hung me and let them take me to the morgue as if I was really dead! Then came for me later, tied me to his horse and took me home, dumping me on my doorstep like I was a piece of baggage! The note he left was a death threat, should I return to Paris!"

Leger picked up a stack of documents and leafed through them. "I have here several written, formal complaints against you, all issuing forth unsolicited from the public ever since the news reports concerning your capture—molesting several female members of the dance troupe and opera company, ranging in ages from 12 to 21 years…breaking and entering the women's dormitories, serving alcohol to minors, reporting to work in an advanced state of intoxication—"

"That was years ago—"

"On the contrary, some are quite recent, and of an even more serious nature," Leger said firmly, dropping the stack and straightening as he slowly paced the courtroom. "You and your brother have been accused of rape and attempted rape, not to mention assault and battery—"

"That ain't true!" Buquet's brother howled, "they were askin' for it!"

Erik heard Meg' hoarse cry of protest and another woman cried out, burying her face in her hands and leaning against an older woman's shoulder. He held Meg's gaze and felt his heart turn over for her. _If only I could hold her in my arms…_

"I think not," Leger said forcefully, strolling toward Erik and stopping before him, still facing the brothers. "There are even more charges added to those: horse stealing, grand theft, assault, kidnapping and even threatening Judge Miller himself!"

"That was the reward money for turning _him_ in!" Buquet's brother protested.

"It was _him_ who kidnapped Christine Daae and held her, then her fiancé!" Josef raged. "_He_ set the fire and ran away, so why ain't nobody punishing him for all _he's_ done?"

"Silence!" the judge shouted. "If you cannot contain yourself you will be removed from my courtroom!"

Both brothers glared at Erik as the judge held up a hand. "I have reviewed all the documents and statements sworn and signed, which are entered into record for your sentencing," Miller said gravely. He looked up. "You both refused legal representation and have today stated your own defense. Given all of the above, I hereby sentence you to 20 years' imprisonment, and now dismiss this hearing. Gentlemen?" he said, looking to the policemen standing behind Buquet. "Please remove these men from my presence. This hearing is closed, and you are dismissed!" 

By the time he found her, Erik noted the change in Meg as soon as he entered the room. She had both arms wrapped around her waist and was leaning toward her mother, her face downcast. Ben and Pieter stood close at hand, quietly discussing something until they saw him come toward them. Pieter reached out his hand and shook it, and Ben slapped his shoulder. Meg looked up, her eyes dark and troubled. He reached for her hand and took it, surprised by how cold it felt. Then she stood and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face against his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"Get her out of here," Louise ordered him as she stood and wrapped her shawl around herself. Leaning toward Meg, she kissed her cheek and touched his own.

"We've got the coach waiting, out the side exit," Ben told him, hugging his mother. "I will see you in a few weeks, Maman."

Louise shook Pieter's hand and stood watching them as they rushed toward the door in an effort to escape any further contact with anyone. Surely some who were present were related to the Buquet brothers, but no one wished to wait around to find out. 

Outside Detective Gilbert was waiting for them, and he handed Erik an envelope, leaning close while the others boarded the coach. 

"Your first appointment with us is enclosed, as are an address and key," he said quietly, glancing nervously around them. Erik sighed and took it, wondering if he should start an envelope collection. "One week from today you must take up temporary residence there. It is a room the judge has had rented for your use. Someone named Daniel will contact you there. After that we will be meeting to further discuss your probation. All right?"

Erik nodded, folding it and glancing up at Ben and Pieter, who sat ready to leave. Louise was climbing down from the coach, blowing a kiss to Meg. She remained hidden inside the coach.

"By the way," Gilbert continued, tipping his hat to Louise as she walked away, toward the main avenue. Erik nodded as he watched her until she disappeared around the corner. "The officers who collaborated with the Buquets are in custody; they will be sentenced next week…I apologize for their interfering in your efforts to clear your name."

Erik met his intent gaze. "It was their fault alone," he answered. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must go."

"Good day," Gilbert said, shaking his hand. "And stay in touch." 

The ride in Pieter's coach was short, extending only half the length of the city from the courthouse. During the ride Meg pressed against his side, gripping his hand tightly. Feeling more unnerved than he had expected, he gazed out the window at the passing houses, realizing that his future was spread before him like a mysterious map of secret clues, leading to an unidentified goal. He found it difficult to consider himself a free man, for he faced innumerable obligations and responsibilities, all of which he had been adjured to share with no one else. Not even his wife.

He toyed with the ring on her hand, which felt icy to the touch. Cradling it in his, he rested it atop his thigh, unwilling to live a secret life before her. He had done that too many years already, and now that he had her it seemed even more impossible than before. Finally resting his head back against the upholstery, he gazed out at the pleasant tree lined streets, unrecognizable to him by the light of day. He had no idea where they were going, but trusted Ben and Pieter to deliver them safely.

Before long they pulled up alongside what appeared to be a large, stately home. It was some distance back from the street, he could see, secluded and protected by the neighboring homes with their finely manicured hedges and trees. The horses whinnied in frustration, as if eager for more exercise, and he heard Ben call out to them before the sound of his boots hit the pavement outside their window. When Ben opened the coach door Meg finally released his hand and gathered up her gloves and bag, smiling unconvincingly at him before he climbed out. Not bothering to use the bandage to cover his face, he tested his leg and decided his recovery was nearing completion. Holding Meg's arm as she climbed down, he then turned to shake Pieter's hand.

"Thank you, sir," he said quietly. "I appreciate your coming here, and everything you've done for me."

"It was my pleasure, Erik," Pieter answered, pulling him into a tight embrace. "You are always welcome to come see us," he said, drawing back. "And should you decide to take my offer of music director, we will of course be thrilled."

"I appreciate that," he answered, feeling a hand on his shoulder.

"Good luck to you, brother," Ben said, releasing Meg from his arms as he shook his hand. "Take care of her for us."

Meg swiped at her eye and smiled up at him as he ruffled her hair. "Bye, Mouse."

"We will be praying for you both," Pieter said, handing Erik their bags before he turned to climb back up. "Come along, Benjamin—we've a bit of a journey to cover before dark."

"Aye, sir!" Ben smiled, climbing back up as Meg took his arm. Together they stood watching them until the coach disappeared from sight.

"They should be there in time for dinner," he said quietly, transferring his own bag to the hand holding hers as her reached into his pocket for the key. "Let's go in before someone sees us." 

"I'm so happy we could come here," she breathed, following him to the back door. He held the door open and let her enter first, then locked it behind himself as he stood watching her.

The house was still, the kitchen large and brightly lit by the sunshine. A lingering odor of cinnamon scented the air, and he watched her move around the kitchen, touching the countertop as if to re-familiarize herself with the room. Then she turned and smiled nervously, meeting his waiting gaze.

"I haven't been in this house for two years," she told him. "But it still feels like a second home."

He walked slowly toward her, glancing around before he met her gaze again. "I'm glad you could come here again."

"They must have dismissed the servants," she surmised, "while they are out of town."

He smiled tentatively. "Think we can manage on our own?"

"That reminds me, I should see about supper," she said, turning toward the pantry. "Are you hungry, Erik? I'm not really…just glad this day is finally over!" 

He came up behind her, gently taking her shoulders and feeling her pause and stiffen. But she did not turn to face him.

"It isn't over," he breathed, waiting before he slowly turned her around. Before she was facing him she flung her arms around him, burying her face against his chest. He held her tightly, feeling her tremble.

"They still terrify me," she choked, pressing her nose against his collar. "Even after all this time."

He laid his cheek atop her hair, breathing in her fragrance. "I had hoped you would be spared from that."

She slowly pulled away to look up at him. "There was no other way—they might have gone free if I hadn't."

He reached up to gently tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear. "You aren't the only one who's afraid of them."

She studied his expression with raised brows. "You're not."

He shook his head. "When they held me in their power, I thought I would never see you again," he confessed. "I was afraid of what they might do to you, to get back at me."

"But what about what they did to you?"

He shifted his hands to her upper arms. "I cannot risk losing you again," he said softly, looking deeply into her eyes. "…not without showing you how much I love you."

Her eyes widened as his words registered in her mind, and she raised a hand to his jaw. Dipping his head, he brushed his lips against hers. She pressed against him and wound her arms around his neck, breathing his name. Then he kissed her with all the longing and need he had denied them both, leaning back against the table and taking her with him. She sighed and kissed him back, making him groan in satisfaction at her response. Deepening the kiss and tasting her desire, he sat on the edge of the table and pulled her between his legs, finding it easier to kiss her in that position. She gripped the back of his head and kissed him hungrily while he stroked her back. Longing to feel the texture of her skin, he rubbed his fingers over the row of buttons down her back, frustrated by their interference. She stroked her hand over his chest and pushed at his jacket until he reached back and removed it. Her fingers unwound his cravat and slipped inside his collar as she kissed him with growing desperation.

Working blindly to unfasten each small button, he felt her opening his waistcoat as he finally released the high collar of her gown. Sighing with pleasure, he passed his fingers over the smooth skin at the back of her neck, then around to the side of her throat. She panted and nibbled at his lips, tugging open his shirt and sliding her hands beneath it to his back. Captivated by her kisses and her apparent desire for him, he pulled her closer and managed to unfasten only a few more buttons. All the while her hands caressed his bare back and pulled out his shirt. Kissing her deeply, he finally dragged his lips from hers and lifted his head, gasping softly for breath.

"Turn around," he whispered, and when she obeyed and held her hair aside, he quickly unfastened the rest of her dress, his eyes drinking in the sight of the smooth plane of her back. She dropped her hair and lifted her chin as he nuzzled the side of her neck, his eyes dipping to the place where her hand held up the front of her dress. She balanced herself by bracing her hand over his thigh, shivering as he slid his hands to her waist and turned her around. Their lips sealed for one drugging kiss before he closed his eyes and balanced his forehead against hers, fighting for breath.

"I want you so much," he breathed, feeling her hands move atop his. She bent to kiss him several times before he could meet her gaze. 

"I want you, too," she whispered, smiling happily as she brushed her thumb along the corner of his mouth.

He stared into the warm brown depths of her eyes. "I've dreamt of you for so many nights," he said softly, caressing her cheek.

"We don't have to settle for dreams, Erik."

He gripped her waist and slowly straightened his spine. "I know," he said soberly, studying her expression.

It was like a dream, he thought, drinking in her beauty and the soft glow of happiness upon her face. His eyes traveled slowly over her lovely features, up to her disheveled hair and back down to the hand with which she held up her drooping neckline. To his amazement, she reached for his hand and tugged, stepping back from him.

"Let's go upstairs," she whispered, her color rising. "Though there is still some daylight left."

He stood slowly, letting her tug him after her. "And thankfully my eyes can tolerate it," smiled, moving to her side and placing his hand at her waist.

She led him through the corridor to the stairs, her eyes drawn to his lips before they shot up to his waiting gaze. "I have my own room at the top of the stairs," she said shyly. "I'll show you."

They climbed slowly and entered a large, pleasantly furnished room, and when she closed the door behind him he reached for her. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her with calm determination, removing the pins from her hair without stopping. When it fell down around her shoulders she pushed his shirt from his shoulders and ran her hands over his bare chest, capturing his breath. He closed his eyes at the profound pleasure he felt with her touch, but she did not stop there. She kissed his entire face, dragging him toward the bed and pushing him down to sit on its edge. He caught her waist and looked up as she slid off her gown and stood before him wearing the same chemise she had worn at their swimming lesson. In like manner he took her gown and tossed it away, causing her to laugh softly as she cupped his face in her hands.

"I remember you being just as careless with another dress," she breathed, kissing his chin.

He buried his hands in her hair and kissed the tender spot beneath her ear. "Once again I gladly cast all care from between us," he whispered, smiling at her shiver of response.

She slid her hands over his shoulders. "I can see that," she breathed, shifting closer when he slowly slid one hand along her thigh and stopped, lifting his head to glance behind him.

Amazingly, it was a double width mattress, incongruent with the virginal décor of her room. She sat next to him and placed her hand low on his stomach. He gasped and closed his eyes.

"I feel like an intruder in this room," he choked, feeling her work at the waistband of his pants. Her hand touched his knee as she gently pushed him back, moving over him to kiss his lips.

"But it's all mine," she breathed as his back touched the mattress, "and I am inviting you to share it with me."

He reached up and traced her lips with his fingertip. "Then I am honored," he whispered, taking her hand in his as he toyed with her ring. She gazed at him questioningly as he began to repeat his wedding vows, sliding his arm around her back as she laid atop his length.

"I take thee, Marguerite Giry, to be my lawfully wedded wife," he whispered, kissing her knuckles as his eyes held hers.

Her breath caught as her eyes filled with unshed tears. "Erik—"

"To love and to cherish," he said softly, kissing her tenderly, "till death do us part."

She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him with renewed interest, meeting his gaze as he embraced her, taking her with him on their first real journey together, as man and wife.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	35. Chapter 35 Awakened Love

**Chapter 35 Awakened Love**

"…Are you all right?"

His voice was a whisper in the moonlight, and in the darkness she could feel his eyes upon her. Pressing her cheek against his muscled chest, she smiled and spread her fingers over his stomach.

"I have never felt better..." she sighed lazily.

There was a soft crinkling sound as he rested his head back into the pillow. She could tell by the faint outline of his face that his head was turned toward her.

"Neither have I," he breathed, slowly running a hand along the slope of her hip. "...Why did we wait so long?"

Laughing softly, she stroked his ribs, loving the warmth and texture of his skin against hers. "To heighten the anticipation?" she teased.

"Well it worked," he whispered, his breathy reply at her ear vibrating throughout her being.

Shivering with pleasure, she lifted her head to slide her lips over the scratchy stubble of his cheek, finding hm waiting eagerly for her kiss. He captured her lips with a hotly intimate kiss that teased and made her want more. Turning to slide her hands beneath his shoulders, her fingertips again found the slightly roughened surface of his back. He gasped with pleasure as she pressed against him, smiling down at his reaction. To her immense delight, he smiled back, cupping her face between his hands.

"I cannot get enough of you," he whispered, guiding her down for a taste of his kiss.

"Nor I you," she breathed, draping herself over him with her hands propped behind his neck. She could feel one of his hands slowly traveling down her spine while the other toyed gently with her hair. Now that he lay flat on his back she could see the silver glitter of his eyes in the faintly lit room. He watched her in contented fascination, his patient expectation giving her a sense of power she had never experienced before. It was heady, feeling as if she was in control of such a powerful and dynamic man. And he had willingly put himself in her charge, as she had done the same with him.

Smiling sweetly, she ducked her head to nibble the slight cleft in his chin, thinking such a small feature strangely alluring. Surrounding his well sculpted lips was a prickly growth of his beard, tempting her to trace their outline with her own lips. His arm tightened around her lower back as he held her to him, returning leisurely kisses with some restraint. She knew he had to be exhausted, for they had only napped briefly from late afternoon to twilight. Yet neither of them wanted to be separated in any way for too long, not even by sleep.

Her mind drifted back to his treatment of her, when he had done similar things to her upon first coming to her room. With every glance and touch he had kindled and stirred a brave fire from deep within her, chasing away her fears and leading them both on a journey of pleasurable fulfillment. With every questioning look or whispered suggestion he had coaxed from her things she never knew she possessed, all the while keeping her safely guarded in the circle of his arms. Even now she bent her head to kiss the place over his heart, treasuring his decision to risk everything and open his life to her. Still she could hear his whispered promise echoing in her mind.

_We have only begun to learn..._

And so, bathed in hushed expectancy, he let her experiment with him, yielding himself to her tender care. She traced her fingertips gently over the planes of his face, combing them up into his hair yet careful to avoid the place where he had been so cruelly struck. They sighed and breathed into each other, joining and then pulling away to rest in each other's love. When she lifted one shoulder with her hand beneath he paused, lifting his head to stare into her eyes. They studied each other a moment, then she kissed him and drew him with her back down to their sides. Facing each other, she nevertheless reached around him and placed her hand on his opposite shoulder, curling her fingers around to the back. His expression changed to regret, then apology, but then she tucked her arms around him and nestled against him. Circling her with one arm, he drew the blankets over them and sighed deeply. 

Troubled by the fact that he was embarrassed about his scars, she rested against him. Trailing her fingertips lazily along his forearm, she felt him nudge her head beneath his chin. This close, she could feel his heart pounding against hers. Breathing in the masculine scent that was uniquely his, she closed her eyes.

"Was it too much," he whispered at length, "for one night?"

Drowsy but still awake, she realized his concern and wondered how to reply. Admittedly, there was some lingering soreness but nothing more than expected. Flattening her palm over his heart, she answered him.

"Don't worry, Erik," she said softly, "I will become accustomed to it."

He leaned his head back at the same time she looked up. "I'm sorry—I didn't realize I was harming you—"

She interrupted him by pressing her fingers over his lips. "You weren't—I wanted you to make love to me," she answered truthfully. "Both times."

He pursed his lips and shook his head. "Not at the expense of your comfort…"

"But I am very comfortable," she sighed, smoothing her hand down his chest. "Besides, we are both new at this and could not have known..."

He searched her face until she lowered her head back to his shoulder. He sighed in frustration, tightening his arm around her.

"I'm afraid I couldn't help myself," he admitted, "I've wanted you for so long."

"I felt exactly the same way…but I wanted you longer."

She felt him stiffen. "Prove it."

As if indulging him, she rose up and pushed his head back into the pillows. "All right—it started the night you rescued me from that alley and carried me home in your arms."

He seemed to consider this a moment. "But you hardly knew me."

"I didn't have to know you to want you, Erik." When he continued to gaze at her, obviously unconvinced, she gripped his shoulder with one hand. "I'm serious."

"I'm stunned," he admitted with a knowing grin. "So then desire is not that different for women?"

She frowned. "How many women are you wondering about?"

He laughed and gently guided her head back down to his chest. "Just one—but please, go on. You have my undivided attention."

Nudging her nose against his neck, she breathed in his scent. "Once you held me in your arms I was lost," she sighed happily.

He tilted her chin up with one finger, kissing her briefly. "Romantic, but a bit unrealistic," he judged.

"You were my hero from that moment on," she insisted.

"I just happened to be in the right place at the right time."

"But it did not stop there: I discovered an Erik no one else had," she stated with conviction. "Passionate, daring, and exciting."

"You were in a state of shock and perhaps not thinking clearly."

"True, but my senses were fully intact," she decided, tracing his lower lip with one finger. "And strangely, more fully aware."

He quirked an eyebrow with interest. "Really…"

"Yes, and they responded to everything I sensed about you—your strength, your loyalty, and especially the wonderful scent of your skin…" she said, rubbing her nose along his neck and thrilled when he shivered in response. She looked up. "You're ticklish!"

"I am not," he huffed, pulling away to nestle his head back in his pillow.

She could see the slight upward turn of his lips, and bending to touch the tip of her tongue to the place beneath his ear, she saw him twitch. Rising above him, she stared down at him in silent accusation.

"You startled me, that's all," he replied.

She smiled threateningly. "Do I need to prove this point as well?"

"That won't be necessary—" he stated, placing a hand on her shoulder before she ducked for his neck again. Finally clasping her against his side, he chuckled, the rumble of which she felt against her cheek. "But I must admit that your interest seemed to have predated mine."

"Good," she said sweetly, "though, looking back, I would have preferred a mutual and fully synchronized attraction."

He stared at her in shock. "I could not allow myself to think of you in that way… not at that time."

"Why not?" she had to know, praying they would not approach the subject of his interest in Christine.

"You were Louise's daughter—"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"She was like a mother to me."

"That does _not_ make me your sister!"

"No, of course not—but you know your mother."

Sighing in agreement, she rested her chin on his chest. "She might have discouraged you, but only because she wanted me out in society to find a rich husband. But thankfully she has since changed her mind."

"I understand her concern about the social part," he stated, tracing the curve of her cheek, "but not the rich husband part…"

She studied his expression, amazed that he seemed offended. "Erik…are you telling me you're rich?"

"I'm not telling you anything at all—"

"You're my husband—you have to tell me everything!"

He shook his head. "Not until we're an old seasoned couple, rocking in chairs on some distant porch."

She sat up, clutching the blanket to her breasts. "How could you allow me to be subjected to all those rich suitors, none of which I could bear to spend even a few minutes!"

"I am hardly the one to blame for the suitors!"

"Would you have wanted to be one?"

"It never came into consideration—not to mention all the other obstacles, your mother practically made me your guardian."

She huffed. "You watched out for all the girls."

"Exactly—the operative word being 'girls,' as in sisters, none of whom did I ever have to watch grow into women."

"…as you did with me."

"Exactly…and the night I carried you home was the first time I realized that you had indeed grown up, and into a lovely young woman as well."

She studied his expression, beginning to understand his position. It helped explain many things about him she would have never entertained. He had isolated himself from her, and from all the other young women, except of course Christine.

He pulled her close, winding his arms around her. "When I saw what those animals nearly did to you…I had to face the fact that you were indeed no longer a girl."

"But you are nothing like the Buquet brothers! You would never brutalize any woman—"

"I nearly did," he said with remorse. After a moment, he continued. "It seems that we have both had to overcome that experience, yet in different ways."

She looked up at him. "I struggled with blaming myself, then blaming all men, until you—"

He closed his eyes. "Don't put me on a pedestal, Meg…I am only a man."

"I did put you on one," she sighed. "You were my hero, Erik. I owed my life to you."

"We owe our lives to God."

"I know that now…but please, Erik, be patient with me."

His reached up to touch her hair. "I intend to; can you be patient with me?"

She nodded. "I believe I am finally growing up, perhaps due to that horrible experience."

"You are, but at an unfortunately high cost."

"We've both been through a lot," she said, lying back down next to him.

He turned on his side to face her. "And I grow more aged by the moment, seeing those rocking chairs…"

She laughed, shaking her head. "You're a young man, and you know it."

"On the inside, perhaps."

They fell silent, cuddling close and watching the sheer curtains lift gently on whisper of a breeze. They furled and unfurled like a bridal veil, like a dance beneath the moonlight. From somewhere below their room a clock chimed, two tones announcing the hour.

"It's like another world here," he whispered, resting his cheek against the top of her head.

"One where we can be alone together, and safe," she sighed, tracing her finger through the light sprinkling of hairs across his chest.

He pulled her close for a soft, lingering kiss. "I could get very accustomed to this," he whispered.

She wrapped her arms around him, closing her eyes. "Let's never leave…"

The soft sounds of the night were calming, and she felt the arm beneath her head relax. After some time she felt a featherlight touch upon her stomach, then his soft whisper. Covering his hand with hers caused him to stop and tense.

"I thought you were asleep," he whispered softly.

"Almost…what were you saying?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you…go back to sleep."

She waited for him to explain, but he said nothing. "Erik?"

He sighed and turned his head toward her. "I was praying."

"…about what?"

When he did not answer, she lifted her head to look at him. His expression was troubled. "Is something wrong?"

He seemed to fight to hold her gaze, then he swallowed. "I was praying that if…if we…"

She rose up to kiss his lips, gently smoothing back a lock of hair at his temple.

"That if our time together should result in a child…it would be a healthy one."

She held his gaze. "Do you want a child?" she whispered softly.

After a moment he nodded very slightly. "I believe I do."

Joy burst and spread through her chest and made her want to scream with delight. Instead she rested back against his shoulder and reached for his hand.

"Now go to sleep, and let me pray," he whispered.

Lying back down, she scooted her back against his chest, loving the weight of his arm over her hip. When his fingers touched her stomach again she held his hand in place, nestling against him. She drifted toward sleep, lulled by his soft whispers of petition. 

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	36. Chapter 36 The Doctor's Note

_**Chapter 36 - The Doctor's Note**_

Erik opened his eyes, instantly alert. The sounds had entered through the quarter opened window—

a muted crash and a distant shout. Meg moaned in soft protest, sliding her foot down his shin and promptly settling back to sleep. Turning his head into her neck, he closed his eyes and tried to follow her there. He knew not the hour, nor did he care, yet he found that once awakened he could not return to his rest. Lifting his head, he glared accusingly at the window for having allowed the world to intrude and violate their blissful state. His gaze traveled over the pale design of the wallpaper, the white provincial furniture and clothing strewn over the thick rug. He ran a hand over his face, feeling his stubbly beard and judging it to be around the noon hour. Light seemed into the room, a carriage passed by and he was too aware of his need to visit the lavatory. 

Turned his attention back to his wife, he studied her face while she slept, deciding that he had never seen anything more lovely. Gently removing his arm from beneath her shoulders, he slowly disengaged himself from her embrace and bent to place a soft kiss against the hair piled at the back of her neck. She nestled her head deeper into the pillow, making him smile as he remembered the flowing script of her little book, the one she had given him back at the parish.

_Do not awaken love, until it desire…_

She was not to be interrupted, he thought, studying the gold and wheat colored highlights in her hair. Her scent surrounded him, stirring him with its power and sweetness. Inhaling very slowly, he prayed a prayer of thanksgiving for her and remembered his petitions of the night before. Deciding the answers were better left up to one far more capable than he, with measured and careful movements he withdrew himself from the warmth of their bed and sat on the edge of the mattress to stretch. Though rudely awakened, he felt strangely energized and had to restrain the urge to leap up and shout with joy. Instead he lifted the blankets from his side of the bed and draped them gently over her bare back. Standing to stretch out his sore leg, he gazed down at the miracle of his wife.

_How could I have been so blessed, to have found this loving and tolerant woman?_

Shaking his head, he stood naked in the bright light of day, feeling as if her were Adam awaking from a deep sleep to find his Eve there waiting for him. Wondering if the greater miracle wasn't the one birthed inside his soul, he strode toward the foot of the bed and reached for his trousers, stepping carefully into them. As he fastened his waistband several other amazing changes confronted him all at once. Here he was, staying in a stranger's home by invitation, standing in a room with a window and flooded with daylight, and even more astounding Meg had shared his bed. Or her bed, to be precise.

His eyes were drawn back to her, and something melted deep within his chest. She was half buried beneath the blankets, with only the top half of her head poking out. As he watched her sleep he remembered the closeness, the passion and the intimacy of their time together. His life had changed drastically, and a great deal of that change was the result of her presence in his life. To his amazement, this beautiful young woman had somehow become his wife. And now, she was his lover.

_I am truly blessed…_

His chest tightened with emotions too strong to face, so he forced them away and went to the window to close it. Then, moving toward the door, he put his hand on the knob and paused, making sure that he had not disturbed her. Wondering if he should bother to pull on his shirt, he felt his stomach burn and growl with hunger. A thought occurred to him, and he flashed a smile before opening the door and striding from the room.

The house was quiet and still, vacant for at least a few days. He descended the carpeted stairs, relishing the feel of the thick wool beneath his bare feet. Light poured in through the main door sidelights, causing the freshly polished wood floor to glow like warm honey. As he touched the cool planks and gazed to his left, his plan to wash up and then cook her breakfast faded at the sight of the white envelope standing atop the dining room table. Stepping hesitantly into the expansive dining room, he could still see Louise's face as she handed him the key to this house, mentioning the note left for him. Scanning his surroundings as if seeing them for the first time, he reminded himself that their time here was limited. Once again feeling like an intruder, he approached the table and stared at his given name written across the front of the envelope standing against an empty wine decanter.

Taking a deep breath, he reached for it and snatched it up, quickly tearing it open. His eyes ran along the flowing lines of cursive, which concluded by alerting him to the fact that a servant would be coming for them at nine in the morning the next day. Puzzled, he touched the train tickets mentioned and enclosed, lifting out the itinerary detailing the train scheduled for Brussels at 10 o'clock. Frowning, he snatched up the business card lying upon the lace tablecloth, noting the crossed out Paris address and the handwritten avenue and suite number of the Hotel Belgique, 4 p.m. on Saturday.

He glanced up, suspiciously scanning the elegantly furnished room, wondering about its owners. Why would this Dr. Hommes and his wife offer their home, tickets to a distant city and an appointment at a hotel? He understood their relationship with Meg was a close one, and why the tickets? Did they know Leger's plan, even before he did?

Lifting the note once again, he re-read the last paragraph, still haunted by questions. It explained about his reward money having been raised by a group of physicians and professionals, all opera connoisseurs, but why was it being held for him to claim? Why would strangers relinquish it for his personal use, deposited in a foreign bank? He remembered Judge Miller's advice to have surgery and appear at his premiere, a plan that he strongly resented. Furthermore yet unbeknownst to them, he now answered to another, One who had commissioned him and whom he would not disobey. What right did any of these people have to interfere?

Swallowing a shout of protest, Erik stuffed the note and itinerary back into the envelope. With trembling fingers he stood it back up against the decanter and stepped back, forcing himself to take deep breaths. His heart was pounding and he clenched his fists, striding from the room intent only upon finding the lavatory. He located it at the end of the corridor, tucked beneath the stairs. Slipping in, he closed the door behind him and ran a hand through his hair. Quickly relieving himself, he fastened his trousers and leaned both hands upon the counter, hanging his head in defeat. He pleaded for direction, and when he began to feel calmer he straightened. In that moment he found himself facing a mirror he had not noticed before.

Confronted by his own reflection, his mind shot upstairs to Meg's sleeping form, flashing with scenes of her face as he consummated their marriage. Overwhelmed by a flood of images from his past, he saw her fainting in the judge's foyer, felt the first touch of her lips upon his, and remembered her bending over him to nurse away his deadly fevers. Most of all, he remembered his vision of his redeemer, the memory of which filled him instantly with peace. Holding his breath, he held his own gaze of astonishment, hearing his own rush of breath as he stood and waited.

_Fear not, for I have set you upon a new course…_

It was that voice again, like a soft whisper but one which came from inside his own mind and heart. There was something keenly familiar about it, as if it was part of his very being. Then he realized he had just had another prayer answered. Laughing with a mixture of joy and relief, he answered while gazing at his own face in the mirror.

"Indeed you have," he replied, shaking his head. "And I am entirely thrown off course."

Though he waited there seemed to be nothing more, and smoothing a hand over his face he slowly collected himself and washed his face. Reaching for a towel, he patted both sides with equal care, washed his upper body and beneath his arms, and patted his skin dry. Flinging the towel over his shoulders, he half turned, frowning at his reflection.

"All right, then," he breathed, "so be it!"

With that he opened the door and stalked back to the dining room. Stretching out a hand to retrieve the envelope, he paused as fear and the unknown taunted him. Suddenly tempted to wake Meg and return to the parish, he knew they could live there undisturbed. They would accept him as he was, surgery or not. Meg would be happy there, he sensed, and he would be free from the confines of his probation. As long as he never left the country, he would enjoy a blessed life. He could direct their music, teach in their school and even compose, something he longed to resume. What better life could there be?

But he would always be a fugitive, running from his debt to society. Shaking his head, he realized that he had just accepted his course, yet now he thought of abandoning it. Free will was a temptation he could not afford, for he was no longer accountable only to himself. No, he had been spared for a purpose, and had returned to the land of the living only by grace. Furthermore, he knew without a doubt that he was destined for another path. But where exactly did it lead?

He thought of the footman calling the next day, a public train ride and hotel stay, the judge expecting him to face the mob at the premiere of _Don Juan_. All these obstacles must be faced either masked or unmasked. If he did not have the surgery to correct his deformity, he would still be in hiding from the world, at least the one outside the parish. Dr. Arnand had warned him about wearing the mask again and exposing his healed skin to its confinement. It would revert back to its former state.

Flicking his outstretched fingers in mid air, he thought of Meg sleeping upstairs, the unseen hosts who had graciously offered them this refuge, and the snarling judge who insisted upon it. Groaning but surrendering to his face, he snatched up the envelope, shoved it into his pants pocket and turned to find the kitchen. Retracing his steps down the corridor and past the lavatory, he found it and set to work. Redirecting his thoughts, he pulled a skillet from its hook above the large stove and set it aside. Bending to search the icebox and the larder shelves, he gathered what he needed, realizing that food had been stocked for their use, some even already prepared and waiting. They had a day and a half to themselves and he intended to make it as pleasurable as possible. First he would surprise her with breakfast in bed, and as he cracked three eggs at once he smiled in anticipation. Maybe they would soak in the large bathtub together, he thought, already envisioning it. A walk in the large garden would provide fresh air, and perhaps he could play for her on the grand piano which stood silent in the parlor that also served as a sunroom. Quite unexpectedly and after a very long time, he suddenly felt like singing. 

"You have to let me watch you," she demanded, startling him. He whirled in surprise, nearly dropping his shaving brush.

"What?" he said defensively, replacing the towel that was sliding from his shoulder.

She smiled impishly, pulling away from the doorjamb. With his foamed up brush poised midair, he watched her walk slowly toward him until her grasped his wrist. Gazing up into his eyes, she smiled, moving closer and placing a hand upon his bare chest.

"Ever since I first smelled it, you have enticed me with your shaving cream," she whispered, smiling warmly up at him. "Please?"

"Is that all it took?" he joked, turning back to the mirror but feeling a rush of embarrassment. After years of complete isolation, he found his lack of privacy somewhat disturbing. "Mere shaving cream to make you mine?"

She moved quickly, grasping his waist from behind as she peeked around his shoulder to meet his startled gaze in the mirror. With pretended nonchalance he stroked the foam over his cheek, chuckling at her excitement as she bounced up and down on her toes. Intrigued by trying not to cut himself, he pulled his razor over his good cheek as she kissed his shoulder and hugged his waist. 

"Does it hurt?" she gasped, her eyes wide as he tipped the blade near his jawline.

"It will if you jostle me at the wrong moment," he muttered, puckering his lips to shave around them.

"Oh! I'm sorry," she gasped, loosening her grip at his bare waist.

"I'm teasing," he breathed, holding aside the razor as he bent to kiss her.

"Erik!" she spat, wiping the cream from her lips and laughing while he turned back to the mirror.

He jumped in surprise at the gentle swat of her hand upon the back of his shoulder. He was about to turn and grind his cheek against hers when he suddenly remembered his back. Stiffening, he also remembered resisting her efforts to turn him to his stomach, and his refusal to let her see his scars. The sound of her laughter faded as their eyes met in the mirror. He tensed his jaw and proceeded to continue lathering his brush.

"They are hardly noticeable," she finally said, curling her hand around his side.

He dabbed the brush over his ruined cheek and concentrated upon his reflection. "What do you mean?"

"Your back," she said gently. "The lines are faint, Erik: one wouldn't notice them unless they were very close."

"Good," he said, tapping the brush into the bottom of the mug to refill it. Glancing up at his reflection, he knew he looked ridiculous with a white creamy beard, but she wanted to watch him shave. God only knew why.

"You shouldn't be embarrassed—"

"I don't care to talk about it," he stated, carefully shaving his cheek. "So tell me…what is so intriguing about watching me shave?"

She sighed dramatically and moved away, perching upon the edge of the tub. He turned his head over one shoulder to glance at her, suddenly struck by her beauty. She gazed up at him with her eyes shining, her face flushed with color and her hair unbound. That troublesome chemise hugged her curves, its satin sheen begging for a man's touch. Clearing his throat, he directed his attention back to the mirror, resuming his shaving with some difficulty.

"I already told you," she said indulgently. "The scent of the cream clings to your skin, prompting certain reactions which… I don't care to discuss."

Lifting his brows he set the razor aside and turned, noting the slight upward tilt of her chin. "I am intrigued…" he breathed, suddenly inspired. Taking a step toward her, he pointed the brush toward the low neckline of her chemise. "Perhaps an experiment is in order, to test its effects."

Her eyes darted to the brush and back to his. "Oh no you don't," she warned, putting up a hand.

He grinned, taking another step toward her. "Why not?" he said seductively, touching the brush to the base of her throat. "I would like to share the effect, with you.'"

"It's a masculine scent," she protested, ducking away as she rose from her perch. He touched it lower, between her breasts before she gripped his arm. "Not for women to wear!"

With a laugh of triumph he snagged her waist and pulled her close, ignoring her squeal of surprise and lowering his face to the spot. He sniffed at the cream on her skin. "Ah—I see what you mean—"

"Erik!" she screeched, pushing at his chest just as he rubbed his cheek against hers, transferring the shaving cream to her face. Her fingers dug into his arms but she laughed, her eyes darkening with sudden awareness of their position. He had her trapped between his body and the wall, their breaths mixed as they panted together. Then her gaze lowered to his lips.

"It does nothing to me," he breathed, straightening and abruptly releasing her despite the fact that his senses thrummed with desire. She pulled the towel from his shoulder and snapped it at him before using it to wipe the front of her chemise. He turned back to the mirror and lifted the razor again.

"I will get you for this!" she protested, wiping her chest with a towel.

"I'm frightened," he said, pausing to meet her gaze into the mirror. "Now pay attention, if you insist upon watching."

"I do," she answered, coming close and sliding a hand around his waist. It was a slow caress, the way she slid her fingers over his skin. His body reacted immediately but he held out the razor as if it was an exhibit.

"One must respect the fine edge of a sharp razor," he instructed, scraping it over his cheek with one deft movement.

When he bent to rinse off the cream she touched his shoulder. "Your beard came in!" she exclaimed, indicating the side of his deformity.

"It did, finally," he agreed, stretching his lips down to shave near his mouth.

"So the treatment not only worked on your skin, it also initiated hair growth," she said, her voice full of wonder. "Maybe we can use it to help others, as well."

"Maybe," he breathed, quickly finishing and wiping off his razor. He watched her reach around him to touch the small leather bag on the shelf. "Do you always carry this with you?"

"I try to," he replied, eyeing her suspiciously. "Why, do you have other plans for it?"

"No," she smiled vivaciously up at him. "But don't even think of trying that again, unless you like me smelling like a man."

He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head to study her. "Actually, now that I think about it, I might enjoy the sight of you covered with shaving cream," he said softly, "and nothing else."

Her eyes widened but she held her smile, lifting the towel to dab at the corner of his mouth. "You missed a spot," she explained, concentrating on her work. "It might prove an interesting experiment, should the roles be reversed."

He stared at her in disbelief, slowly hooking a hand around her hips to pull her close. "I doubt that, but I'm open to experimentation," he breathed, dipping his lips to hers. The kiss held as she sighed with satisfaction, curling her arms around his back and returning his kiss.

They slid the kiss back and forth with slow deliberation, and she dragged her gaze back up to his.

"Thank you, for the wonderful breakfast," she said between tentative kisses.

He cupped the back of her head and tasted her lips. "My pleasure, Madame."

She slid her hands down his hipbones, gazing innocently up at him. "I've never been served in bed before, except when I was sick as a child."

He smiled. "But you are no longer a child…" 

She smiled, leaning into him. "No, thanks to you…" 

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt _

5


	37. Chapter 37 The Convention

_**Chapter 37 - The Convention**_

Grasping her traveling bag with one hand, Meg wound her free hand around Erik's arm as they approached the desk clerk. After arriving in the magnificent city of Brussels and setting her eyes upon the opulence of the Hotel Belgique, she felt excited and awed. Not to mention to be traveling with Erik on what she considered a honeymoon of sorts, one they had already begun much more privately in her godparents' home. Waiting for the hotel clerk to give them his attention, they held onto each other, somewhat tense but nevertheless basking in their newfound love.

Glancing up at the bandage covering Erik's deformity, she sighed at its worn appearance but knew there was nothing they could do about it. Hopefully it would last until their appointment with Dr. Jean, who she looked forward to seeing again, as well as dear Rosalie. They had them to thank for not only a private time together, but to their accommodations and travel to this place. She only hoped that they would see in Erik all that she had seen. As she worried about this, she saw him turn his head and look down at her.

That heated dark green gaze of his bore into her, making her blush as her heart began to pound. His nearness did strange things to her stomach yet made her feel as if she had come alive for the very first time in her life. As she noted the slight lift of his brow she reddened even more, for he seemed to detect every detail of her state and seemed to glory in it. Although they stood in a noisy, crowded hotel foyer his gaze fired hot as it assessed her features, causing desire to sweep up and over her. Pleasantly flustered, she glanced down at her soiled gloves and brushed her free hand over her wrinkled dress, still feeling the weight of his gaze. She was aware of him bending to place his bag at the foot of the desk and therefore released his arm. He straightened and she felt his hand touch hers. Her attention shot to him and she saw the amused twinkle in his eyes.

"Your bag?" he prompted softly, a slight smile tilting the corner of his mouth. 

She realized she gripped her bag so tightly he could not relieve her of it. Loosening her fingers, she felt his fingertips caress her hand before he took it and placed it next to his. His hand lifted to her back, flustering her even more, yet she gave her attention to the clerk as he finally turned to them. He was a middle aged man, stout and a bit frazzled in appearance, yet when he stared up at Erik a sarcastic smile spread over his face. Meg resisted the urge to slap him even though Erik stretched to his full height and placed both hands upon the polished surface of the desk. The clerk was forced to lean backward to hold Erik's stern gaze. His silence was even more intimidating, Meg smiled to herself.

"May I help you, monsieur?" the man finally asked, disdain clear in his voice.

"We would like a room," Erik stated simply, "preferably one with a view."

"All of our rooms are taken," the clerk answered with a too polite smile. "Unless of course you have a reservation."

"We do not."

The man transferred his gaze to Meg, who gripped Erik's upper arm. "The only beds which are available are in the shared rooms."

Feeling her anger mounting, Meg knew he was dismissing Erik in favor of dealing with her. Beneath her hand Erik's arm tensed.

"Shared rooms?" her husband said quietly, "surely you have something else, perhaps with some additional incentive."

The man stared greedily at the folded bill Erik drew out and half hid in his hand, but shook his head and affected an offended expression. "We have several concurrent activities in our city this week," he told her, nodding his head toward Erik. "Of which the medical convention is only one."

She glanced up at Erik, noting the nerve that jumped in his cheek. Taking a step closer to him, she leaned closer to the man. "Surely there are other hotels—if you might direct us there? We are new to the city."

The clerk smiled at her. "Everything is full," he shrugged innocently, "But we can put your name on our waiting list and notify you should anything become available."

Erik glanced down at her, as if waiting for her assent. She caressed his arm, holding his gaze. "Please?" she whispered to him. "I'm very tired."

He put his arm around her shoulders before turning back to the clerk. With forced smile he leaned closer, taking her with him. She had to grip the counter to maintain her balance.

"My wife and I will register here, but add our names to your list," he said meaningfully, emphasizing the word wife.

The man sighed indulgently but copied their names at Erik's dictation, checking the spelling of their last name several times. Keeping his arm around her, Erik reached for his billfold and pulled out the required amount. This was grabbed rudely, as was the extra tip Erik had offered.

"You will be informed," the clerk answered without looking up, sliding a key toward Erik, another toward Meg.

The second Erik slid back to him. "We will not need this," he stated quietly, staring at the man until he glanced back up.

"Hotel policy is that shared accommodations are separate for men and women," he added, sliding the key back toward Meg. "As well as divided on different floors."

Erik grinned dangerously. "I commend you on your attempt at joking," he stated, sliding the key back. "We are married and therefore stay together."

Meg noticed the lull in the activity around them, but decided that making a scene was excusable in light of the man's obvious prejudice toward Erik. By now the clerk was fuming at Erik.

"It is no joke," he insisted; "all newly arriving guests are given the same arrangement...hotel policy, as I stated."

She felt Erik's arm leave her shoulders as he straightened once again. "Then you are not discriminating against us, as I assumed?"

The man's expression changed again. "Certainly not, monsieur!" he gasped, glancing at the other hotel personnel who were watching their interaction with great interest.

"You could have fooled me," Erik said quietly, his stare prompting the others to resume their work. Finally the held up a hand for them to wait before he turned away. 

"There is a message for you," he said over one shoulder. When he returned he extended a note toward Erik, who snatched it from his fingers. "When something becomes available a porter will let you know…dinner is at half-past six, a masked ball tonight. Masks will be provided in each room."

Pursing his lips, Erik pocketed the unopened note. "How convenient," he sneered. "Do let us know when that vacancy becomes available," he warned, bending and snatching up their bags. He stalked off without a backward glance as she lifted her skirts and hurried after him. Ignoring the interested stares of the other guests crowding the huge lobby, her boots clattered over the floor tiles as she followed him to the opposite end of the room. He did turn several times to catch her eye, yet apparently the effort to withhold his anger was proving too much after a long and arduous train ride. As they plowed through the crowds she saw many other patients in the lobby, some with canes or crutches, two in wheelchairs and others with bandaging about their heads. In light of their discovery the clerk's rudeness cut more deeply into her heart. She even entertained the idea of filing a complaint with the man's supervisor just for singling Erik out.

She saw Erik set their bags down at the foot of a brown upholstered loveseat tucked into a secluded corner. Fewer people were congregated there and a partition shielded it from the main entrance. He put a hand to his head as he turned to wait for her. When she reached for his hand and slid onto the loveseat he allowed her to pull him down at her side. With a mighty sigh he closed his eyes and leaned back, threading his fingers through hers.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to leave you—"

"I know, and don't you dare apologize," she said quietly, leaning back and nudging his shoulder with hers. "Maybe something will become available soon," she said, her mood nearly as dark as his.

"I doubt that, judging by the size of this crowd," he commented, turning to study her for a moment. "I should not have let him provoke me."

"He was horribly rude," she insisted, leaning her head against his shoulder and laying a hand on his thigh. He stretched his long legs out before him with a sigh and closed his eyes. After a moment she heard his soft chuckle.

"This is quite cozy," he breathed intimately. "I am tempted to nap with you right here, beneath this auspicious gallery of haughtiness."

She glanced up at the portraiture of frowning citizens of the city and giggled. "How scandalous, but tempting—we might have that long a wait."

His eyes half opened. "I truly looked forward to our own hotel room…a novel experience, for both of us."

She lifted her brows hopefully. "Maybe we could sneak out of our shared ones later on," she whispered, gently squeezing his hand.

His expression lit with hope as he leaned close enough to bring his lips near hers. "Are you propositioning me, Madame?" he whispered, flashing a smile,

She lifted a fingertip to the cleft in his chin. "What do you think?"

He leaned his head farther back to study her face. "Now that is an offer I find impossible to refuse," he whispered. "Name the time and place."

She stretched up to kiss him gently on the lips, right there in public. "To be announced—nor would I have accepted a refusal," she added, straightening as a porter caught her eye and nodded to Erik.

"I had no intention of refusing," she heard him say before he got up to greet the man.

The porter was young, but he smiled and bowed as they got to their feet. "Sir, Madame," he greeted with a genuine smile. "Thank you for your patience—I am pleased to announce that we have two openings in shared rooms, if you will allow me to lead the way."

Erik nodded stiffly. "The lady's suite first," he requested, taking her arm as the porter took their bags.

Proceeding back across the lobby and under an archway, they followed the porter through streams of people at every turn. Many people waited in lines, conversing loudly and looking bored and impatient. Slowly making their way across the foyer, the saw the porter turn and point his finger.

"To your left is the grand ballroom," he indicated. "Do you know about tonight's masquerade ball?"

"Yes, thank you," Erik replied distractedly. "Where does the medical convention convene?"

He pointed in the opposite direction. "The main dining area—lectures continue all week, beginning at 10 o'clock each morning through Saturday, with lunch and dinner included for registered patrons."

Erik nodded, taking out the note left for him as they walked along, dodging people along the way. Meg guided him with a hand on his arm as he read the note, thinking that the hastily scribbled writing looked familiar. 

Erik glanced up. "There has been a change of plans," he told her. "Our appointment has been moved to today," he stated, handing her the note as they came to a juncture in the corridor. They had to stop and wait as an elderly woman walked slowly across their path, balanced with a cane and the support of a younger man who smiled apologetically at them. Erik nodded back while Meg took the opportunity to read the note herself.

_"Erik – our appointment for 4 o'clock tomorrow has fallen victim to conference demands - if you could, please meet me today at half-past five, room 302. Looking forward to meeting you and seeing Marguerite again…Jean Hommes."  
_  
Tucking the note into his breast pocket, she met his look of surprise with a smile. Her formerly loner of a husband still found it disconcerting when she did such things, but judging by the pleased glint in his eyes he was becoming accustomed to it. They continued on, following the porter up a sweeping staircase up to the second floor. Turning right, they faced a long hallway of closed doors and started down it. She leaned closer, tugging his sleeve.

"This is turning out to be quite an adventure," she said quietly. "The arrival of the carriage to take us to the train station, driver unseen, the long train ride interrupted by a dangerous crossing—all quite thrilling."

He laughed shortly. "A bit too thrilling—we nearly swerved off the track."

She smiled up at him. "You caught me the moment I stumbled, and quite expertly! Who knows what injury I might have suffered, had your reflexes been slower?"

"At least there we were able to sit together," he stated blandly, directing his gaze ahead. "Separate rooms _and_ floors—I'm seriously considering a walking tour of the other hotels just to find a double room."

She sighed, turning again with him as they followed their guide into the deeper recesses of the hotel. "All I can think of is freshening up and resting a bit."

"That may not be possible in a shared room," he said by way of reminder.

"Then at least I might wash my face and change into a clean dress."

He nodded. "It was good of your mother to pack more clothing for us and have it delivered to the house before we left, although I wonder how she managed to find anything of mine."

"Mother has ways of managing we can only dream of," she sighed. "The butler even took time from his day off to deliver them—we must mention that to Jean when we see him later."

"How could we have delivered them, without being heard or seen?"

"Georges it the perfect servant—virtually invisible unless summoned."

"Reminds me of my former life," he stated, averting his gaze to the porter's back. "Which did, by the way, have its advantages."

Erik's courage in coming thus into the public realm astounded her, particularly in light of the rude treatment he had long suffered when doing so. Something told her, however, not to dwell upon it, nor be too obvious in letting him know of the overwhelming admiration she felt for him. Instead, she looked up at his stern profile with a teasing smile.

"Are you thinking of becoming a butler, then?" she stated with feigned shock.

He glanced down at her. "What, you don't think I can humble myself enough?"

"I would have a hard time envisioning you taking out the trash, Erik."

"I've had worse jobs, particularly in my earlier years," he said, looking ahead.

Her smile faded. "Well I would prefer you did neither, for it would be an incredible waste of your talents."

"I don't know about that," he answered distractedly, watching the porter slow and halt before room number 294. "I do admit I must learn the art of planning ahead, at least in terms of making a reservation."

"We could never have anticipated the entire city being so crowded," she answered, watching the porter knock, listen and slowly open the door.

"Your room, Madame," he announced, stepping back to let them enter ahead of him. "There are, as you can see, several other women sharing this one...it appears they are out for the day."

Slowly they walked in, Erik halting just inside the open door. Surprised at the clothes and accessories strewn about the room, she saw that the beds were unmade and overflowing with more clothes, some spilling onto the rug.

"Yes, I can see," she answered, noticing one small bed in the corner alcove, upon which she watched the porter set her bag. He offered her a slight bow before going to Erik, who nodded to him in thanks while he pressed something into his hand.

"Thank you, Monsieur," he smiled. "Would you like me to show you to your room now?"

Erik drew his attention from the untidy furnishings to his face. "That won't be necessary," he said, holding his hand out for his key. "I will find it on my own, thank you." He was given the key and the porter handed over his bag.

"Take a left from here to the staircase, go up one floor and turn right; it is two doors down," he was instructed.

"I appreciate your help," Erik said, nodding as he closed the door behind him. Leaning back against it, he caught and held her gaze. She gripped her hands tightly as he smiled faintly. "Alone at last," he whispered, watching her expectantly.

Rushing up to him, she threw her arms around his neck as he scooped her up against him, bestowing upon her a ravenous kiss. She gripped his shoulders as a flame of desire ignited between them. It seemed that it grew stronger and stronger every time they touched, Meg sensed, overwhelming them with need. It had been a long day spent in public and now, faced with another separation, they took advantage of what might be their only chance to be alone together for a few days. That is, if Erik agreed to the surgery Jean offered.

He pulled her back with him as he leaned back into the wall, touching his forehead to hers. "I've wanted to do that all day," he breathed, his fingers shifting restlessly through her upswept hair.

"I have too," she sighed, kissing him briefly before peeling off the fake bandages concealing his face. "What are we to do?" she complained, kissing him hungrily. "I don't want to leave you."

He kissed her in earnest, lifting a hand to the buttons of her jacket collar. "Maybe we can think of something," he whispered, deftly releasing each its confinement. 

Following his lead, she pushed off his jacket as they kissed greedily, frustrated by their need and lack of expression. Gripping both their jackets in one hand, he backed her toward the nearest door and pushed it open. They were in the bathroom, she realized as she pulled up the tail of his shirt and touched his skin. Sliding her hands up and around him, she reveled in the warm strength of his body, hearing the door kicked shut. When he lifted her suddenly she squeaked in surprise, feeling the hard countertop beneath her as she gripped his shoulders for support. He ducked and fastened his lips over hers, leaning into her as he grasped her waist.

"What are we doing?" she breathed, kissing him between huffs of shared laughter.

He tilted his head to kiss her teasingly, grinning up at her from his half bent position. "Making love, I hope," he growled softly, kissing the side of her neck. She shivered and hooked her ankles around the back of his knees.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," she panted, kneading his chest beneath his half opened shirt. When he captured her lips again she was surprised by the intense hunger for him that swept through her, robbing her of thought and intent other than to be with him. It shocked and unsettled her, but he seemed to relish it, indeed, he seemed determined to watch it grow. For a few frustrated moments they struggled and bumped their elbows and knees, then he lifted his head to look deeply into her eyes.

"I'm willing to risk it if you are," he breathed, smoothing his hands along the outside of her thighs before he paused to see what she would say.

"Someone might come in," she half breathed, half laughed.

"We need not be long," he gasped, laughing at himself as he kissed her greedily.

"Oh, Erik," she moaned, sliding her lips across his, "this is…truly…scandalous…"

"Which makes it even more exciting—" he said into her ear, his voice a soft laugh.

"We're being silly—" she sighed, tasting this side of his neck. "Like children playing where they know they shouldn't be."

He kissed her teasingly. "I never had a childhood," he breathed.

Loving the passion in his voice, she teased his bottom lip with hers. "I could teach you to play," she whispered, laughing when he flashed a smile.

"I can hardly wait."

She wound her arms around his waist and pulled him closer. "Is the door locked?" she whispered, kissing him hungrily.

He grinned wickedly. "Of course." Then kissing her with practiced determination, he made her world fall away until there was no one else but him. He slowly plucked the pins from her coiffe and shifted his hands through her hair, spreading it around her shoulders. She heard the soft jingle of hairpins clipping the countertop as she massaged the back of his head, loving the thick softness of his hair. Grasping his head between both hands, she guided his mouth back to hers, feeling his sigh against her lips even as another sound invaded their world.

"Sarah?" a distant voice called, followed by a few knocks upon the outside door. "Are you in there, Sarah?"

They froze, staring into each other's eyes. Tightening her fingers upon his shoulders, she realized they were about to be discovered. Pushing him away at the same time he righted his shirt and straightened, she gripped his arm and slipped from the countertop.

"Sarah? It's Mrs. Brigham—" they heard her knock as Meg piled her hair up and jabbed pins into it. She nearly laughed at the way Erik had buttoned his shirt and donned his jacket, hiding the disarray beneath. Slow footsteps traveled the distance close to the door and they heard it shut. "I'm sorry to interrupt you dear, but really you must come down and see—oh, I think we have another guest!"

"Mrs. Brigham!" Meg called out, quickly fastening the top of her dress, "you do," she identified herself, watching Erik tuck in his shirt and begin to fasten his collar. His eyes were dark green and heavy lidded with passion, and she thought he had never looked more desirable. "My name is Marguerite Destler—"

Shrugging back into her jacket she watched him scoop his up, plastering himself against the wall next to the door. Nodding his head toward the doorknob, he smiled and laid a finger over his lips. 

"You can't hide in here!" she whispered, grasping the knob nevertheless.

"Just get her out of the room for a few moments," he whispered back. 

"What did you say?" the woman called, her voice closer now.

Erik was struggling to loop the bandage around his head as she gripped the handle and turned.

"Destler!" she introduced herself, smiling as calmly as she could and stepping into the room.

Mrs. Brigham was a very stylishly dressed older woman, her white hair twisted becomingly into a neat coiffe. She wore a burgundy gown, many jewels and a suspicious expression.

"I thought I heard voices in there," she said carefully, peering around Meg's smiling face.

"Oh—I sometimes talk to myself," she confessed, realizing it was true most of the time.

The woman's eyes narrowed upon her face, shifted over her mussed clothing and untidy hair while she smiled broadly. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance—I assume you are my room mate?"

Mrs. Brigham's expression relaxed a bit. "You are positively glowing, young lady—let me guess, you are expecting, aren't you, dear? That is why you took so long in there."

"Well, thank you, I—don't—know what—"

"Allow me to introduce myself," Erik said formally, stepping up behind her and touching her waist. Mrs. Brigham laid a hand over her heart and took a step back, dumbfounded.

"Goodness gracious—" she gasped, her tone a mixture of wonder and surprise as she looked from Meg to Erik. His tall, muscular frame filled the threshold as he guided Meg a few steps into the room and extended his hand past her.

"Marguerite's husband," he said, politely shaking her hand gently before releasing her. "My name is Erik Destler."

Mrs. Brigham stared at him a moment, her critical examination taking in his crookedly fastened cravat and jacket, the loose tendrils of Meg's hair and finally the sparkling ring on her left hand. When she lifted her eyes to Erik's a knowing smile crept over her wrinkled features, lighting up her face most becomingly.

"Erik Destler," she sighed, tilting her head to study him. "Why is your name familiar?"

He straightened. "It is a common enough surname, Madame...?"

"Angelique Brigham, nee Courtemanche," she stated absently. "Which physician are you waiting to see, might I ask?"

"Dr. Jean Hommes," Meg interjected, pulling Erik's arm around her and holding it close. "He is also my guardian, along with his wife Rosalie."

"Haven't met them," Mrs. Brigham stated, straightening her shawl. "I'm here for a skin surgeon, myself."

"We hope it is nothing serious," Meg said politely, her heartbeat finally slowing. 

"Only a minor surgical need, my dear—well, forgive my interruption, I was just looking for one of our other room guests who fled in tears somewhere else, apparently. She is always weeping about something insignificant."

"And please excuse my use of your lavatory," Erik apologized with a slight bow.

"He has yet to find his own room," Meg said, smiling up at him. "He only wished to see me to mine."

"Separate rooms?" Mrs. Brigham huffed. "A ridiculous practice, especially for young married couples such as yourselves."

"How did you know?" Meg blurted out before she could catch herself. Erik eyed her with gentle warning before she shifted her attention back to Mrs. Brigham.

Mrs. Brigham smiled up at Erik with twinkling eyes. "It shows, my dear," she whispered, turning to cross the room. "Well, while I'm here I might as well look for my glasses, which I seem to have misplaced yet again."

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Brigham," Erik said curtly, opening the door and stepping out into the corridor. He lifted a hand to hold the sliding bandage in place. "I will be back to escort you to dinner," he said to Meg. 

"Would you mind terribly if I go down with you?" Mrs. Brigham asked sweetly, turning to throw Meg a hesitant look.

"…of course not!" she answered, looking to Erik for confirmation. 

"I would be delighted to escort you both," he offered, "assuming Mr. Brigham is unavailable?"

Mrs. Brigham came up and placed her hand upon his arm. "Unfortunately he is not, kind sir. I have been a widow for 12 years, but I prefer not to be alone...I'm sure that with some pause and reflection, you might understand my preference."

"Neither is needed," Erik stated, throwing Meg a look. _If she only knew to whom she spoke,_ he seemed to be saying. "There is no fate worse than loneliness, in my opinion."

Eyeing him keenly, she nodded. "You are a very perceptive young man."

"Erik, what about your appointment?" Meg reminded him.

He nodded and pulled out his watch. "We have one half-hour before I'll be back for you," he told her, nodding to Mrs. Brigham. "Shall we call for you at 6 for dinner?"

"Seven would be better," Mrs. Brigham announced. "I thank you, sir—you are truly a gentleman to escort an old lady, and a stranger no less."

"Ah but we have introduced ourselves," he corrected her, turning to smile at Meg before he left, closing the door behind.

Meg looked at Mrs. Brigham, still somewhat embarrassed by their appearance. "I'm so sorry about that, Mrs. Brig—"

"He has wonderful eyes, your husband," she interrupted, reaching for Meg's hand. "An astonishing color...not to mention impeccable manners, and a fine build as well."

Feeling caught, Meg smiled nervously. "It is just that we are accustomed to sharing the lavatory—"

"I understand completely, my dear," Mrs. Brigham soothed, walking away but stopping to turn and smile. "If he were my husband I would do exactly the same thing…in fact, I should be asking your forgiveness for interrupting an intimate moment—but I've afraid I've never had a very good sense of timing."

"He shouldn't have been here, considering the hotel's rules—"

"Pooh on their rules!" Mrs. Brigham complained with the wave of her hand. "They should have made arrangements with another hotel or two in anticipation of the crowds—it is shameful, separating married couples this way, especially the newly wed." 

"How do you know we are newly wed?" Meg had to ask, despite her embarrassment.

"I just know—go by the heart, dear, not the head. Remember that, and you will have a long and happy marriage."

"I will keep that in mind," Meg nodded. "But we're both horribly embarrassed."

"Don't be—that husband of yours has suffered enough, by the looks of him. He needs some tender loving care, I would say. And I do hope his injury is correctable, though even one side of that face is worth a lifetime of joy."

"Mrs. Brigham, please! You are making me jealous!"

"Good—don't be sorry and don't apologize for wanting to show that jealousy and love—it's what marriage is all about!"

Meg frowned and turned to go to her bag, busying herself with unpacking and laying out her gown and a dress for Erik's appointment. She listened distractedly to the woman's continuing story of her marriage and family, all the while looking forward to Erik's return and seeing Jean and Rosalie again. Once this matter of his surgery was discussed and they could sit down to dinner, they might be able to relax. Quite unexpectedly and thankfully, everyone else would be wearing a mask as well. Perhaps for the first time since leaving the parish they might blend into the crowd as any normal couple would. That, she vowed, no one would take away from them. Not if she could help it.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	38. Chapter 38 The Examination

_**Chapter 39 - The Examination**_

Feeling a jab to his shoulder, Erik flinched and awoke. With half opened eyes he saw standing over him a small boy. No more than seven or eight years of age, his huge brown eyes were alive with curiosity and impatience as he stared. Amazed to discern that he must have fallen asleep, Erik pulled himself toward a sitting position and leaned on one elbow, running a hand over his face. He stopped midpoint, discovering that his bandages had slipped off.

"Can you take me to find my father?" the boy asked, tugging at his sleeve.

"What?" Erik asked hoarsely, trying to remember meeting the boy and knowing he had not. As to which man assigned to this room was his father, he had no idea.

"Who is your father?" he wondered as he drew groggily upward, swinging his legs over the edge of his too short bed.

"Mon. Richard—what happened to your face?"

Erik dropped his chin to his chest, took a deep breath and lifted his head. "That, young man, is a very long story."

Watching his eyebrows arch upward, Erik waited until the boy turned and pulled up a chair. He sat dutifully on its edge, staring back into Erik's eyes. "I have lots of time."

"Well I don't," he said, slowly rising as he gazed toward the fading light beyond their window. Rubbing his stiff neck, he turned to face the boy, who still waited for the story. "Did he say when he would return?"

The boy shrugged. "Ethan started to throw a tantrum so Father took him out—he said we were not to disturb your nap."

"We?" Erik repeated, studying his stern expression with amusement. "And it does not escape my attention that you did just that."

"I'm sorry, but I had to be sure it wasn't hurting you, with your bandages off."

"Well rest assured—it does not."

"Were you in a fight?" the boy asked hopefully.

Captivated by the boy's sharp wit and charm, he bent to a squat to look directly at him. "Why don't you tell me your name, by way of introduction?"

"Joseph—what's yours?"

"Erik—now that we've properly introduced ourselves, I'll answer your question—only one."

"But I wanted to ask you about the pretty lady I saw you with downstairs!"

Erik chuckled, shaking his head at Joseph's lack of guile. "That would be Meg…my wife."

"Now can I ask you about your face?"

"That would be two questions."

Joseph raised his hands in supplication. "What else do I have to do? I'm so bored."

"All right," Erik breathed. "If you must know, I was born with something wrong—my face didn't come out like other people's faces, so I cover it up."

Joseph frowned, looking disappointed. "You weren't in a fight?"

Erik shook his head. "No, not recently."

Joseph pointed to his marred cheek. "It's not too bad, once you are used to it."

"I appreciate your opinion, Joseph," Erik replied, rising to go to the bureau. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must get ready for an appointment."

Joseph came up to his side, staring up at him with a puzzled expression. "But how can you sleep with that covering a whole side of your face?"

"I don't," Erik replied, opening his watch to check the time; not much left until he had to collect Meg. "Unless I have to share a room."

"Then you let Meg see?"

He stopped midpoint in combing his hair and looked down at the boy. "Yes, I let her see—"

"Then it can't be bad at all, if she doesn't mind."

"Thank God she doesn't," he agreed, turning to plant his hands on his hips as he eyed Joseph critically. "Are you always this curious with strangers?"

"Papa says it's dangerous and rude and that I should control myself, but you aren't really a stranger now that you're sharing our room, are you?"

Considering his reasoning, had to agree. "I suppose you're right about that."

"Actually, I was also ordered to rest but I hate naps—do you take them often?"

Retrieving a clean shirt from the wardrobe, Erik laughed. "Never—but we had a long trip coming here."

"Is Meg sharing a room with other ladies?"

"She is indeed—and your mother?"

"Her room's on the first floor with two other ladies—they are really old—are you going to take her to the masquerade ball?"

"If we want dinner, yes."

Joseph's face brightened. "We will be at Table 8—Papa made sure he found out ahead of time so Mama could find us there…maybe you can both come over." He stretched a finger toward the discarded mass of his old bandage. "You're not going to wear _that_ as your mask, are you?"

Erik paused halfway out of his wrinkled shirt. "Do you have another suggestion?"

Dashing to the other bureau, Joseph returned with a black satin mask, thrusting it toward him. "This one's much better—it's just like Papa's and mine."

Erik took it from him, placing it on the bureau. He finished pulling off his shirt, careful to keep his back to the wardrobe. "I suppose I should try to blend in."

Joseph nodded. "That might be best—can I see it on you?"

"Later, Joseph."

"But you want to make sure it fits properly—if not you'll have to get another one from that mean man at the desk!"

Erik nodded, fastening the dress shirt. "Something to be avoided."

Joseph nodded soberly and reached up for his own hanger. "I will get ready too—are you going to wear one of _these_?" The paisley cummerbund in his small hand was clearly an object of distaste, so Erik pulled out his own black satin one.

"I'm afraid so, though yours is much more interesting."

Joseph frowned. "It's ugly, and I hate dressing up."

"You'll get used to it," Erik replied, trying not to laugh as he watched Joseph lay it aside as if it were filthy. "Perhaps you might start with the shirt, then work up to the cummerbund."

"Maybe I'll do it later—can I help you instead?"

"I would appreciate your help," Erik stated, unfolding the cummerbund and extending one end to him. "Hold that for me, would you?"

Joseph nodded happily but took charge, dancing around Erik as he wound it around his waist. "Three times around!" he declared as Erik took the end to fasten it in place. "Papa's barely makes it one time around!" he giggled, covering his mouth. 

"Do you think he will return soon?" Erik said with growing concern. Where was the man? He had to leave momentarily but didn't want to Joseph to be alone.

"I can stay here by myself—" Joseph stated importantly. "Can you interduce us to Meg at dinner?"

Erik bowed, taking the tie handed to him. "I would be honored, sir."

They heard a knock on the door and Joseph ran toward. "Who is it?" he yelled, laying an ear upon its surface.

"It's Papa—let us in!" 

Meg opened the door at the third knock, standing back in surprise to behold her husband standing there. He was dressed in a formal black tuxedo, dazzling white shirt and black satin cravat which perfectly matched the mask he wore. Stunned at the impression he made, she pressed her hand over her low neckline and stared up into his green gaze, aware of his cleanshaven face, shallow cleft in his chin and the enticing curve lifting one side of his mouth a bit more than the other. Gone was the thick bandage which had been soiled from their hours of travel. Gone were the tension lines she'd seen crinkling slightly at the edges of his eyes. He look vital, well rested and more handsome than she had ever seen him, not at all like a patient here to see his doctor. Even more unsettling was the frank interest of that gaze as it traveled slowly and admiringly over her face, even lowering to the place where her fingertip brushed her décolletage. She could almost feel the touch of his eyes in that very spot, making her weak in the knees.

"Who is it, Meg?" she heard Sarah's call from what sounded like the far reaches of the city. "It's not Pierre, is it?"

"No, not Pierre," she managed to reply, while he bowed only enough to hold eye contact with her. He leaned closer, affording her a hint of his scent as he flashed a smile meant for her alone.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered like a caress. As if finding it difficult to tear his gaze away, he glanced into the empty space behind her before meeting her gaze again. "Come, before I'm spotted."

She stretched her hand to clasp the one he extended to her, relishing the warm possessiveness in his touch as she rose to kiss his cheek.

"And you, sir, are far too handsome to hide," she said beneath Sarah's 'thank God' and Mrs. Brigham's warning not to wear that shawl. Gripping his arm with her free hand, she effectively cut off his planned and hasty retreat. "Please, Erik?"

"Who's there, Marguerite?" Mrs. Brigham demanded, her voice indicating she was not far from the door. "I hope it's my shoes back from shining, at long last—oh my!"

Meg saw Erik's discomfort at Mrs. Brigham's behavior and frank stare, yet somehow shrugged it aside in favor of those impeccable manners the elderly woman had noted.

"Good evening, Mrs. Brigham," he said quietly, nodding his head in greeting as he placed her hand upon his arm. Holding it there when she sensed he would rather flee, her admiration for him grew even more. She squeezed his arm in silent thanks.

"Well, what an attractive couple you make!" the older woman declared, comparing his towering height against Meg's petite stature. "Girls, come quickly and meet Marguerite's husband!"

"We really must be going—" he began, turning away as Mrs. Brigham gripped his free arm.

"But it will only take a moment!" she scolded him. "Please?"

"Hello there!" Serena gushed, stretching her head around the door to gaze at Erik with wide eyes.

"This is Serena," Meg introduced, "Sarah's younger sister."

He nodded in greeting as Sarah pushed her way between the other women. "And I'm Sarah," she said coolly, extending her hand for him to take it. Which he did.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintances," he said quietly, his lips tense.

"We really must leave for our appointment," Meg interjected, glancing back apologetically over one shoulder as Erik tugged her discreetly away from the door, apparently having reached his limit of socialization.

"Nice to meet you, Erik," Serena called after him, gripping Mrs. Brigham's arm as they both stared after them in obvious fascination. 

"Thank you," she breathed, glancing up at his tight jaw while trying to keep up with his long strides.

"That was highly embarrassing," he said, heaving a sigh. "I can hardly remember being so ogled."

"But you are all they talk about!" she whispered in explanation. "Mrs. Brigham guessed what we were doing behind that closed door—"

"_About_ to do," he corrected, obviously frustrated.

"—and she is quite taken with you!"

"I'd rather not know that, Meg," he breathed, his eyes ahead as they rushed toward Jean's suite.

"Well you don't have to look so incredibly handsome and…delicious!" she teased, tugging his arm for him to slow down.

"If this is an indication of how the evening will proceed I believe I'll stay in my room."

She glanced up at him, noting that his brow was creased with concern. "Erik, I just wanted to show you off—I truly could not help myself."

He glanced down at her a moment, his features relaxing. "Well in that case," he whispered, glancing down the corridor before touching her chin to lift it for his kiss, "I'll reconsider, just to see what else you cannot help."

She curled her hand around the back of his neck and kissed him soundly, not caring who saw them. When she lowered herself to her heels he kept his eyes closed a bit longer, as if savoring the moment.

"Hopefully the worst is over," she teased, sliding her hand slowly down his chest. He gripped it in his, a tight smile framing his mouth as his eyes delved into hers.

"I doubt that very much," he said with a wicked smile. 

Erik watched Meg throw her arms around her godfather and hold onto him as if for dear life. The older, distinguished looking gentleman patted her back affectionately, his eyes lifting again to Erik's. Nodding, he watched her godfather gently ease her away so that he could look at her.

"Look at you, ma petite!" he sighed with pleasure, "all grown up, and even lovelier than before—married life seems to agree with you."

Meg smiled happily, half turning toward Erik. "It does, Jean—this is my husband, Erik Destler."

Erik leaned toward him, firmly grasping his hand. "It is an honor to meet you, sir—" he began, stepping inside and closing the door behind him at Jean's nod. "We truly appreciate all that you and your wife have done for us…for me, in particular."

"Good to meet you, Erik, and the pleasure is ours," he answered with a firm grip. "Rosalie is seeing to the arrangements, but will meet us momentarily. Come in, please!"

They stepped into a small parlor, and Erik noted the double bed. If only they had made reservations in advance, he and Meg might have had the same privacy. "Rosalie also managed to get your seats switched to our table for dinner—I hope you do not mind."

"Not at all," Erik assured him. "I am happy you and Meg will have more time together—she speaks very highly of you both."

Meg took his arm as they walked toward the sitting area. "I apologize for us being late," she said to Jean. "Four women in one suite is a bit difficult."

"Well we haven't much time," Jean nodded, indicating that they should sit down. "I suppose you know the other reason I'd like to meet you, Erik?" 

He nodded, seating himself in the chair nearest the mirror, which he turned away from. "I do, though it is a bit strange to find myself seated before a vanity," he quipped.

"I apologize, but this is the best place to examine you outside of the hospital…may I?"

Erik nodded and slowly removed his mask, eyeing Meg as she sat close by, smiling encouragingly at him before she glanced up at Jean, who was already intent upon examining his cheekbone. He felt him probe and tap lightly here and there, telling himself to refrain from anger and embarrassment, and that this doctor had undoubtedly seen patients with all types of injuries. Still, he had not expected feeling vulnerable, or worried about the future. He had agreed to come here mostly for Meg's sake, without entertaining any previous thought regarding the outcome. Unless he could count the authorities' demands he have the surgery.

"If I am not mistaken, the skin has healed miraculously," Jean said, his voice tinged with wonder. He tilted Erik's jaw upward and to the left. After a few more moments of study, he straightened and crossed his arms. "From what little I know about your condition, I would say that you have come a very long way, Erik—and I am speaking only of your journey here."

Erik looked up at him. "I don't understand..."

"I was at the premiere of Don Juan," he explained. "It is obvious you have had some treatment in the interim."

Meg cleared her throat. "Dr. Arnand told us he would contact you with the details of Erik's case," she stated. When Jean turned his attention to Meg Erik looked away, avoiding his reflection.

"Arnand? Ah yes, I believe he did send me something, but I did not realize it was about your husband!" He turned back and placed both hands on Erik's jaw. "Please, bear with me a few more moments," he asked, continuing his conversation with Meg as he checked Erik again. "I do get an enormous amount of mail, but had I realized how dramatic a healing this was I would have contacted him before...let me know if this causes you any discomfort—"

Erik winced, gripping the arms of the chair. "Yes," he admitted, surprised at the pain he felt when the bones beneath his eye were pressed.

"And here?" Jean asked, undeterred from the examination.

"Somewhat, but not as much as closer to the nose."

"Ah…now tilt your head all the way back," he ordered. Erik obeyed, suddenly wishing Meg had not stayed. The doctor practically sat on his lap to peer up both sides of his nose and use a mirrored instrument in ways no one should have to endure. He ground his teeth and suffered through the pain and indignity of the exam. When he felt a comforting touch upon his hand he realized that Meg had risen and come closer to his side.

"Well, that is all I can do for now," Jean stated, ending the torture.

Erik let out the breath he was holding and lifted a hand to his aching nose, avoiding Meg's eyes.

"Tell me, when the weather is poor—rainy or snowy—do you have pain below your eye?"

Erik sighed in resignation. "Yes; it is sometimes quite unbearable under those conditions."

"And what do you do to relieve the pain?"

"I have trained myself in the use of some medications…but I much prefer a shot or two of brandy."

The tiny smile exchanged between his wife and Jean did not escape Erik's notice. 

"Please," Jean urged, "enlighten me with the details."

Erik proceeded to name the sedatives and pain medications he had learned to combine, detailing which were used for congestion, which for pain and which worked on his migraines, the exact doses required for Jean's interest. "But again," he emphasized, "brandy has worked equally well, in modest doses of course."

The doctor shook his head. "How many years have you suffered thus?"

"Ten, perhaps twelve..."

"And you never sought out medical care all that time?"

Erik laughed softly. "I did attempt that, with poor results…I have learned the art of self sufficiency," he explained, his eyes meeting and holding Meg's. "At least in most endeavors."

"Well you may have exhausted that option by now."

Erik returned his attention to the doctor. "Go on."

Dr. Hommes sat on the edge of the counter, leaning close. "Given your examination I must recommend surgery Erik, at your earliest convenience."

"What's wrong?" Meg breathed, gripping Erik's hand.

"Judging by the pain and sensitivity to touch beneath your eye, as well as other deficits, I must urge you to consider corrective surgery. It is, I believe, the only way to prevent further deterioration."

Erik took a moment to consider the prospect. "I have read the few medical journals made available to me, as well as some anatomy texts," he stated. "Could you offer more details, as well as another approach?"

"Fair enough," Dr. Hommes sighed, glancing at Meg as he continued. "With the underlying bone malformation at the side of your nose and extending along the cheekbone, proper sinus drainage is absent, which has without a doubt caused the tenderness, pain to palpation and headaches you have suffered. With surgery we could ensure proper working order of the sinuses. This would in turn mean all the difference in your health and breathing, as well as protect proper eye function and vision."

"By doing nothing I then risk advanced disease, as well as my eye?" Erik said carefully.

"Yes, I believe so."

Meg chewed her bottom lip as she stared at Erik's cheek, twisting her fingers together.

"What would the surgery entail?" he wanted to know.

Jean sighed mightily. "Well, it is not a simple operation, and would require about three hours of work. I have much more experience working with children, before the problem has become longstanding, and with accident victims of course. Although yours is most likely a birth defect, I would be forced to treat it in the same manner, only in reverse."

Erik stared at him a moment. "'In reverse?' As in fracturing the bones in order to reset them?"

Jean nodded, eyeing Meg. "That is exactly what I would have to do."

"How?" Erik asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"Please!" Meg objected, gripping Jean's arm. "I cannot bear to think of it—and it sounds too dangerous!"

"I know how it sounds, petite, but I have confidence that in Erik's case the benefits outweigh the risks," he answered, directing his attention back to Erik. "You will not feel a thing under the anesthesia, I can assure you of that...but we would need to break the cheekbone and nose on that side, support the eye and work beneath it to graft in new bone. There are of course risks, as with any surgery, but this is even more delicate and tricky, given the hardened nature of the deformed structures."

"What about recovery time?"

"It would take several weeks, depending on how well you heal. I would call in a colleague who is expert in eye surgery to assist with that aspect of the surgery, as an added protection should any complications arise."

"Complications?" Meg croaked, turning away to face the window. Feeling overwhelmed himself, Erik ran a hand along the back of his neck and slowly got up.

"I need to think about this—"

"Don't Erik—it's too risky!" Meg pleaded, facing him again. Her eyes shot to his and held.

"He risks more by declining it," Dr. Hommes said quietly. "You are a young man, Erik, and I would encourage you to consider it."

"Would there be any change in my outward appearance?"

"Most definitely—and all for the better. Just restructuring the side of your nose, for instance, would vastly improve its appearance and normalize it."

Erik picked up the black mask, carefully replacing it as he gazed into the mirror. "No more masks…no more hiding?" he said in mock humor, smiling at himself. "How ever would I adjust?"

"Erik! This is not a joking matter!" Meg choked.

Erik met the doctor's slight smile, still using the mirror. "She worries too much," he told Jean.

"Like her mother, but a good quality in a wife, nevertheless," Jean agreed. He slapped a hand on Erik's shoulder. "Think about it…now let me get my jacket—dinner awaits."

Erik nodded. "All right, thank you."

There was a knock on the door, and a woman's voice. "Jean?"

Meg rushed to the door, opened it and squealed in delight. Erik rose to his feet as both women embraced whole heartedly before realizing the door was still open. Meg closed the door and took the other woman's arm, leading her toward Erik.

"Rosalie, this is my husband Erik," she introduced simply, watching their interaction. "Erik, Rosalie Hommes."

Erik bowed slightly, clasping her outstretched hand. "A pleasure, Madame."

"I am so glad to meet you, Erik, and to see our Meg again."

"Are we too late for the preliminaries?" Jean asked his wife, slipping into his jacket.

"Not yet, we have time," she replied, nodding toward the napkin wrapped bottle sitting in a bucket in the far corner of the room. "I ordered some champagne," she explained. "I hope you do not mind a toast, in congratulations?"

"Of course they don't mind," Jean said, opening the bottle with a loud pop. He waved them over and quickly poured them each a fluet.

"And we have a gift for you," Rosalie added, watching her husband pull out an envelope from his breast pocket. This he extended to Meg, as if to spare Erik any embarrassment. "No, don't let Erik open it until you are alone, Meg—we insist. And now, a toast—"

They thanked them together and Erik touched his hand to Meg's back. He could feel her tremble slightly, and therefore tightened his hold on her.

"To a joyful, healthy and long lived marriage," Jean stated. "To Marguerite, and to Erik, with our blessing—and may God bless you both with his love."

"Now finish quickly—" Rosalie urged, draining her glass. "We do not want to miss the festivities!"

Erik nodded. "Thank you for your help; we are truly grateful."

Meg smiled broadly before draining her glass. She hugged Jean and turned to do the same for Rosalie, who declared her hunger.

Erik stepped closer to Jean, watching the women embrace. "Might we have a moment?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

Jean nodded. "Of course." He looked up, waving the women off. "We'll meet you in a moment," he said, despite their objections.

"I won't keep him long," Erik apologized, waiting as they exited the room and closing the door behind them.

"What is it, Erik?" Jean asked without a hint of surprise.

Erik turned and sighed mightily. "I just wanted your opinion on what might have caused the problem."

Jean shoved his hands in his pockets, studying Erik's masked face. "From what I have encountered in the medical literature and case studies, as well as from your examination, I believe it resulted from either some trauma before birth, or perhaps some poisonous substance during pregnancy…but again, that is only my guess."

Erik gazed at him with eyes narrowed. "Not an inherited condition?"

Dr. Hommes shook his head. "I cannot be sure, without seeing the others in your family."

"That would not be possible."

"Why is that?"

Erik averted his gaze, looking toward the curtained windows. "I was cast out as a young child…I do not remember them clearly, nor have I had any contact."

"Do you desire any?"

"No—" he answered abruptly, looking up to meet his gaze. "I really do not know…"

"I understand…is it childbearing you are concerned about?"

Erik nodded. "Yes, of course, at least to me."

Jean's expression relaxed somewhat. "Meg is not worried, is she?"

"No, and she acts as if it is unimportant."

"That is because she loves you so much," Jean chuckled. "I could tell that as soon as I saw her with you."

Erik put a hand to the back of his neck. "I walk a fine line between complete astonishment at her marrying me, and fear of waking and finding it all an illusion."

"I can assure you it is not a dream," Jean stated, leading him to the door. "I know Meg very well, and that is quite clear. But referring back to the matter of children—what happened to you in the early days of your formation in the womb would likely pose no risk to your children. So trust in God, and trust in Meg's instincts. Wives are amazing creatures, with powers we men do not share or understand. Now, let's not keep them waiting."

Erik stepped out into the hall with him, glancing down its length to see them waiting at the stairs. Meg straightened to full attention when she saw him, and his heart leapt in response.

"All right," he answered. "I will do my best…"

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt _


	39. Chapter 39 Another Masquerade

_**Chapter 39 – Another Masquerade**_

As they followed her godparents down the corridor, Meg glanced up at Erik as they walked side by side. Covertly studying his face beneath the black satin mask, she knew that for all outward appearances he looked calm and unaffected. No one would ever guess the ominous news he had just been given. To the uncritical eye they were just another couple enjoying a pleasant evening together. Yet her mind filled with visions of him laying on an operating table, undergoing facial reconstruction the details of which had been made all too clear to them only moments ago.

Choking back a sob of grief, she forced herself to concentrate on Jean and Rosalie walking ahead of them, hand in hand. Jean was a good man and a highly respected surgeon, yet she could not bear the thought of him breaking the bones of her beloved's face, even if the end result would be healthier and afford Erik a chance to live a normal life. Still, if he did not have the surgery, his prognosis was grim. Right now Erik was the picture of health and vitality, in the prime of his life. But what if he should lose his health, she wondered. He had even admitted to Jean that there were times when he suffered a great deal. It simply wasn't fair, she shouted inwardly—he had already suffered more than anyone she'd ever known! Blinking against the pooling tears in her eyes, she felt his gaze upon her. And of course she could do nothing else but meet it.

His expression twisted with concern as his eyes traveled over her face. She felt his hand leave hers but then he raised his arm and drew her beneath it, pulling her close. Trying not to burst into tears, she hugged his waist with her arm and tried to match his pace.

"Fret not over the matter," he said softly, glancing ahead once again.

"How can I not?" she whispered. "I keep seeing all the horrible details in my mind—not that I doubt Jean's abilities, for he is perhaps the best—"

"Do you trust him?" he interrupted, looking at her intently.

She stared up into his compelling eyes and nodded. "Yes," she answered truthfully. "I would trust him with my life."

He glanced away, his expression thoughtful, then slightly more aloof. "Then I will consider his advice, but not tonight…I will allow nothing to spoil our evening together."

Awed, she stared up at his profile, seeing that he was visibly more relaxed. "How do you do it?" she thought aloud.

He glanced at her. "Do what?"

"Just set aside the bad news—shrug it off, and go on as if you've never received it?"

He studied her upturned face a moment before flashing a brilliant smile. "Why years of practice, my love."

_My love…_ his softly spoken endearment completely distracted her. Deep within her being desire stirred as her love for him blossomed in her heart. Resisting the urge to throw her arms around him and beg for his kiss, she looked up into the ever changing colors of his eyes with a warm smile. Even more thrilling was the fact that he seemed to sense exactly how she felt. This new awareness between them was growing stronger each moment they spent together, and though they never spoke of it, she sensed it surprised and thrilled him as well.

As if proving it, Erik bent his head closer as they walked, brushing a soft, lingering kiss over her temple. Pulling his arm from her shoulders, he reached for her hand as they continued around yet another corridor, finding it filled with a waiting crowd seeking entrance to grand ballroom. They exchanged indulgent glances with Jean and Rosalie, then a few words, and finally settled into a long wait. And they had yet to make their way down to the ground level. People lined the stairs and choked the corridors for as far as they could see. It was a sea of glittering jewels and gowns, dark tuxedos and hats, everyone wearing a mask. Realizing that she had forgotten to pull hers up, Meg quickly set it in place as Erik smiled down at her, squeezing her hand as they shuffled ahead a few steps. A few more halts and starts brought them within view of the main staircase, above which opened up a huge atrium with gilded ceilings, chandeliers and hanging plants. Their porter had brought them up a different way, and Meg gaped at the elaborate décor, certain that even with renovations the opera house would never look this glamorous. And there were hundreds of people streaming from different lines, all forging into one which was halted on the staircase. Erik glanced down into the lobby below and informed her that the line disappeared around the foyer leading toward the ballroom. It was not moving.

They somehow managed to move ahead a bit more, Erik guiding her before him as the line narrowed and they came up behind Jean and Rosalie, but separated by several couples who had cut in before them. She held his left hand between hers, glad for his closeness in the crowd. Her heart beat accelerated in the same way it had when the mob had swept her away. Rosalie, finishing her survey of their status in line, turned to face them with a dramatic sigh.

"It seems we may have a long wait until dinner," she said, shifting her attention from Meg to Erik's impassive expression. "I did request that someone contact me if we can get in sooner."

"Rosalie is in charge of the seating arrangements," Meg explained.

"Not every year, if I can help it…Erik, Jean told me a bit about your meeting," she said quietly, her expression warm. "I would like to know your impression, if I might ask?"

"To run in the opposite direction," he stated blandly, "as quickly as possible."

Rosalie laughed delightedly, glancing at Meg. "Quick wit _and_ a sense of humor after such a dreary report?" she commented. "I like that in a man."

Meg rose on tiptoe to kiss his smoothly shaven cheek, just below the edge of his mask. "I like it too," she announced, feeling his hand cup her elbow to steady her. Truly the champagne was affecting her more with each passing moment, as was the ease with which he now touched her in public. The combination made her feel suddenly happy and carefree. "That would be _my _first reaction as well."

"I see you rather mounting a fierce attack," he answered, the warmth in his eyes stealing her breath away.

"Fleeing is always a dramatic but very telling response," Rosalie stated, not missing any detail of their interaction. "Meg and I both have been known to have a flare for the dramatic, from time to time."

"Is that so?" he asked with obvious interest. "I should like to hear more—but first let me assure you that I meant no insult to your husband."

Rosalie waved a hand in dismissal. "None taken—isn't that right dear?"

Jean turned his head, his expression blank. "What was that?" he asked, pulling his attention from the distant front of the line. "Oh I never take an offense too seriously—it's far too common in my line of work."

Rosalie leaned closer to Erik. "He has many horror stories in that category."

"Actually Erik, I would be very concerned if you rushed into making any decision at this point," Jean mused.

Erik inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I am learning the hard lesson of not rushing into anything, if I can help it."

"Something we all need to learn," Rosalie sighed, glancing away toward the line perpendicular to theirs.

"You might seek a second opinion while you're here, Erik. Some of the world's best physicians are here, all under one roof—I can introduce you to a few, if you'd like."

"I would appreciate that," Erik answered, following them as the line moved toward the stairs. "When do you need a decision?"

"Whenever you choose, but if you decide in the affirmative I recommend as soon as possible—"

"Dr. Jean Hommes? Dr. Hommes?" a voice called, bringing a slight hush to the din of conversation and laughter around them. Everyone's attention shifted to the man coming up the stairway, making slow progress against the line. "Dr. Jean Hommes?" he continued calling, his eyes searching the crowd for some acknowledgement.

Jean raised his arm and waved. "Here, here!" he called, throwing Rosalie an apologetic look. "I have a feeling our presence is going to be required elsewhere, darling."

"If you take me with you I'll see to getting us all seated sooner," she bargained.

"Dr. Hommes," the hotel clerk stated, nodding in greeting as he came to his side. The crowd, having decided their interests lay elsewhere, resumed its previous din of conversation. "The other speakers are waiting for you at the podium, Doctor—if you would follow me?"

Jean nodded. "Of course—but I'm bringing my wife to make sure we do not get separated."

Rosalie put a hand to Meg's cheek, looking up at Erik with a smile. "We will see you later—table 4!"

"All right," Meg nodded, moving up to fill the place they left vacant. She felt Erik's hand touch her back possessively, smiling to herself at the gesture.

"You have wonderful godparents," he said quietly, his eyes following their departure.

"They are more like real parents," she replied before realizing that he had never known the blessing of family or home. As far as she knew, he had always been alone—something she could not even begin to imagine enduring. Turning to smile up at him, she leaned back just enough to brush his chest with her shoulder. "I would say you are now officially welcomed into the family," she said dreamily, fascinated by the slow tilt of those wondrous lips upward toward a smile.

His eyes bored into hers. "It must be my charm," he guessed, gently touching her upper back.

She could feel the point of contact between his fingertips and her bare skin, and shivered with pleasure. "Oh without a doubt," she agreed, fingering his lapel. "I find it highly irresistible and so, apparently, do they."

His eyes darkened to a green not unlike the deepest pine forest. "'Irresistible'?" he breathed. "Is that so?"

Delighted at his change in mood, she touched her palm to his chest, not caring what anyone might think. "Oh yes," she smiled up at him. "In fact, I am developing quite a hunger for more of it."

His gaze lowered to her lips. "How timely that you should mention hunger," he said softly, lifting his eyes back to hers. "I too find myself longing for sustenance with each passing moment..."

She smiled with sudden inspiration. "I'm not sure I can wait for dinner, Erik," she pouted, gently screwing a finger into his muscular chest. "Champagne on an empty stomach has left me feeling quite rash, if not a bit desperate to satisfy that hunger."

His hand captured the one toying with his shirt, which he lifted to his lips. "We share the same predicament, then," he agreed, glancing down the length of the slowly moving line. "And being a rather unconventional sort myself—"

She giggled happily, placing a hand over her mouth with a scandalized expression. "I should say you are."

"—perhaps you might consider an alternate route to the food?"

She lifted her brows just as her stomach growled loudly. It then occurred to her that she had missed lunch, busying herself with helping clean her suite.

He tilted his head sideways, his eyes on the line. "I think a raid of the kitchens is in order," he whispered close to her ear, "by your example, of course."

"I do have experience," she breathed.

"Then lead the way, Madame," he encouraged, taking her arm.

"All right, but I am not to be held responsible for the outcome," she insisted haughtily, clasping his arm with both hands as she stumbled a bit on her high heels.

"I will assume all blame," he said, stifling a laugh as they stepped out of line, ignoring the surprised attention they were attracting.

"We cannot hold your place," someone warned, shaking his head at their shrug of dismissal.

"But you'll miss your dinners!"

"Going for room service? Not a bad idea—"

Hurrying to keep up with Erik's lead, Meg covered her mouth to keep from bursting into laughter. When he realized she was having a hard time doing so, he slowed down and wrapped his arm around her waist.

"We may have just given others the same idea," he said with a regretful sigh.

"But they only guessed at our true plan!" she encouraged. "By the way, there is a definite possibility that we may get terribly lost trying to find another way down."

"Don't forget who accompanies you," he smiled, tightening his arm around her. "In the meantime let's see what we can do about your hunger."

"Yes, please," she smiled, "and in this moment, I am not above stealing." 

_**Christine**_ gripped Raoul's arm, her eyes following the two people leaving their place in line. "Raoul look," she gasped, leaning into his side. "See that couple, going in the opposite direction?"

Throwing an irritated glance toward the place she indicated, Raoul soon dismissed her request. "Really Christi, I am in the middle of a very important discussion—" he whispered.

"Just look at the woman!" she insisted, unable to look away. "She seems familiar, somehow…"

Raoul smiled apologetically to the man on his left. "I beg your pardon—one moment, please." 

"No problem," he answered with a shrug. "Neither of us is going anywhere."

"She looks like Meg, Raoul—" Christine breathed, searching the sea of people for the coronet of pearls so familiar to her friend's. "She even moves like her!"

Raoul narrowed his gaze toward the direction she indicated, spotting the one she must mean. He shook his head. "That's impossible—what would she be doing here?"

Christine stared at their retreating backs, watching them get snagged several times by the crowd surging in the opposite direction. "I have no idea—she always hated the idea of a touring company, as her mother did."

"Maybe she has had a change of heart," Raoul guessed, "since that her mother sent her away; but nevertheless, it is no doubt just a resemblance that you see, my dear. "

No longer able to hold his interest in the subject, Christine told herself he was probably right. Perhaps she was imagining seeing Meg because she missed her so. The woman wore the same white mask every other woman at the hotel was wearing. Her gown was simple but elegant, pale wheat in color and the perfect match for her blonde hair. Even more unlikely, this woman was escorted by a tall, dark haired man who, other than the fact that he was dressed entirely in black, did not stand out from the crowd. At least, she mused as she gazed after them, not at first glance. In fact, as she considered it, something less obvious attracted her attention to them. They were a striking contrast, yet held together by an attraction one could sense even from a distance. The language of their movements spoke volumes of a deeply intimate, satisfying relationship, exactly like that which she longed to develop with Raoul. They had a promising start, for which she was thankful, but she wanted more. Much more…she wanted what _they_ had.

The more she considered Meg's personality and history, the more convinced was Christine that this woman could not be her. Meg had suffered a frightening enough attack which would never permit her to behave in the manner she was witnessing. No, this woman was confident of her abilities, as well as completely trusting of her escort. Compared to Raoul, this man was a man of passion more than intellect. It was Raoul's intellect, she well knew, that hindered his passionate, more artistic side, one which she was sure to discover beneath his business like acumen and social graces. But they were still adjusting to married life, hindered by their constant traveling and performing. The only good which came from being on tour was that Raoul's voice was improving, as was hers. They had toured London, Edinburgh and several continental cities, resulting in the funds which poured into the account designated to restore the opera house and premiere the full length, entirely revised _Don Juan_. Her career was soaring, particularly since the changes made to her character, and the added emotional dimension allowed her a power and range perfect to carry her voice to new heights. As she shifted along with Raoul toward the ballroom, she sighed and felt content.

_Erik would be proud…_

Shaken, Christine snapped to full attention, wondering where that thought had originated. She met Raoul's troubled glace with a serene smile and patted his arm, allowing him to go back to his financial negotiations with this new potential donor. No, she would not think of him again, despite the continual weight of guilt she carried at her role in his demise. It was because they shared a long history, teacher and student, and his music was unparalleled despite its modern sound and controversial lyrics. She thought back to her life in Paris, picturing settling down in the new wing of the de Chagny estate, driving in to the opera house to perform and seeing Meg dance once again. She even missed Madame Giry, though they had never gotten along all that well.

_You did it all at his expense…_

The phantom: again his image swam in her mind, and pinching the bridge of her nose did little to vanquish the memory. She knew that she had hurt him deeply, beyond repair or so she had thought. Then his written letters of apology and documentation reached Raoul's estate, along with his very generous wedding gift. Together they had read of his spiritual conversion and finding peace, his intention to turn himself in and serve for his crimes, yet over time she wondered how they could dare to believe it. Surely the lonely phantom had returned to his former state of being by now, probably in some lonely prison cell in a remote part of the country.

Raoul laughed suddenly, startling her from her dark thoughts. He had garnered yet another pledge of support for the opera while standing in the banquet line. The heavy obligation of fundraising lightened considerably in his capable hands, and she was grateful to have such a wise and handsome husband. It was the phantom's fault they were forced to tour and deal with the aftermath of his rage, but they were overcoming that legacy and forging their own. 

"Did you hear what he pledged?" Raoul whispered, smiling broadly. He leaned close to whisper the amount to her, forcing her to nod and smile. "That should get us back to Paris a fortnight sooner, my dear. Then you and Meg shall have many days to talk and shop," he teased.

She slapped his arm playfully. "I think rather that you and I should put our heads together and see about securing her a fiancé, Raoul."

He raised both hands in surrender. "I'll send a few acquaintances her way, but please, spare me the details."

Christine raised her neatly trimmed brows. "I'm counting on you to refer suitable candidates from your large pool of friends and associates."

At his groan she laughed and with him moved closer toward the staircase which led to the lobby below. 

_**Weaving**_ past the stream of guests on their way toward the ballroom, Erik led them down a different corridor, searching for a way to the kitchens. His intent was to bribe one of the servers to let them sample an appetizer and have a private moment together in some distant corner of the kitchen. Judging by the size of the crowd waiting to enter the ballroom, it would be at least an hour until anyone had dinner. Already the champagne was dulling his senses, though pleasantly so, yet he knew Meg was much more affected than he. Although he had to admit he enjoyed seeing her playful side he wanted her to remember this night with distinct clarity. Especially the fact that she was flirting with him, in public no less.

The noise of the crowd receded as they made their way down the corridor, passing a few stragglers late in joining the lines. Nodding in silent greeting as they passed, he glanced down at Meg, noting her flushed face and realizing that once again he had forgotten the need to slow his pace. Immediately doing so, he was rewarded with such a warm smile from her that he nearly forgot what he was doing. Then he heard a familiar sobbing sound, too reminiscent of her roommates.

Sweeping an arm around her back he turned, taking her with him into the shadows. She gripped his shoulders and clung to him as he pressed them into a narrow passageway as another group of people streamed by unseen. Women's voices complained and one sobbed, but he judged them to be another group, not Meg's room mates. They clung to each other until the group passed, then he glanced out into the main corridor. No one was about. When he looked back into her upturned face, he was struck by how beautiful she looked, her eyes dark and luminous. In them he read an intoxicating mixture of mischief and desire.

"You saw my roommates, didn't you?" she whispered gleefully. "That's why you made us hide from them!"

"I wasn't sure," he whispered back, tucking back a loose strand of her hair. "But I didn't want to risk anyone interrupting our secret mission."

Her eyes lit with excitement. "What secret mission?"

He smiled wolfishly. "Scavenging for food, of course."

She glanced toward the hall, tugging at his lapels to make him follow. "It's clear, I think," she panted softly, her eyes drifting toward his mouth.

"Let's hope so; we've waited long enough to satisfy our hunger," he breathed.

She stretched up to kiss him softly. "Do you think we've had too much champagne, Erik?"

"Most likely," he sighed, smiling before he kissed the tip of her nose. "But food will remedy that."

She slid her fingertips beneath his lapels. "Do you know where the kitchens are?"

He cupped her cheek, grazing her lower lip with his thumb. "Don't worry, I have a plan—"

"Does it involve sneaking back into my room and ordering room service?"

He stared at her for a moment, wondering if he interpreted her meaning correctly. When she smiled with pretended guilt he knew that he had. "What an excellent suggestion."

"I thought so—we did such a good job of hiding that I'm tempted to try it again."

He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. "And perhaps finish what we started?"

She framed his jaw with both hands. "Though it was quite exciting, I doubt we will get away with that again."

"You're probably right," he agreed, tracing his fingertip along her collarbone and enjoying the slight shiver his touch elicited from her. "Though the idea certainly is a tempting one."

She grasped his hand as her eyes held his. "Someone's coming down the hall!" she whispered.

"Let's go," he said, sweeping her out from hiding. They traveled the remaining distance of the corridor and began to detect the delicious aromas of dinner being prepared.

"Slow down, Erik!" she gasped. "I can't walk very well in these shoes!"

"Then pull them off," he laughed, tugging her hand. "I'm hungry!"

"Even without them I cannot keep up with you!"

He slowed his steps. "I'm sorry, I keep forgetting—" His breath was cut off by her arms coming around his neck from behind. "What—?"

"This should slow you down!" she laughed, linking her feet around his shins as she tried to climb up onto his back. He could hear more voices as he tried to suppress his laughter, and grasping her thighs he managed to keep her up. She laughed into his ear despite the sounds of others approaching, so he found another corner and ducked into it as her arm shifted higher against his neck. 

"You're choking me!" he whispered, feeling her grip loosen. Then she planted a moist kiss just below his ear, shaking him with its impact.

"I'm sorry," she teased. "Is my grip too strong?"

Backing into the corner, he turned and pulled her into his arms. "We'll see," he whispered, pressing her against the wall and holding her gaze.

Her expression lit with challenge. "A wrestling match?" she whispered, gripping his shoulders.

He nodded, gently pushing up her mask and shaking his head when she meant to remove his.

"Leave it," he breathed, bending to claim her lips. Her soft moan of pleasure thrilled him, but he was careful to cushion her back with his hands flattened against the wall. She clung to him as he kissed her hungrily, tasting the heady mixture of apples and champagne in her kiss. She shoved her hands up under his jacket, pulling impatiently at his back.

"I've missed you so much," she whispered against his lips, "though we've only been apart one night—"

"It seems like years," he said, kissing her hungrily and smoothing his hands up her sides. She grasped his head between her hands and held him as he kissed down along the side of her neck and stopped at her low neckline. Her fingers wove slowly through his hair as he breathed in the fragrance of her skin, trying to battle his need for her. Though he tried to lift his head she held him in place with one hand, the other sliding low down his back in silent invitation.

"I need you, Erik," she breathed, pulling him up for a hungry kiss. He closed his eyes and lost himself in her love and passion until he could stand no more.

"I have to make love to you," he whispered against her lips, half groaning and laughing at his weakness.

Her eyes opened and she smiled. "Please do—I don't care if anyone interrupts us—"

"Yes you do," he whispered, kissing her hesitantly.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Then take me to my room."

"There are three other women in your room."

"Then yours."

"Three men and two boys—"

"Make them disappear," she breathed, nuzzling his neck with her lips. "Make everyone else vanish…"

He gripped the back of her head and pulled her against him, holding her tightly. When she insinuated one hand into his waistband he groaned softly. "Meg…"

"Maybe I can get Mrs. Brigham to keep the others away…" she said dazedly.

He opened his eyes and stared down at her. "Even if we could find her, do you think she might help?"

She nodded, loosening his cravat. "She told me she was happily married for 30 years."

"You discussed our problem?" Erik was amazed.

She sighed, kissing his chin. "No discussion was necessary…she knew by looking at us."

"How embarrassing," he half laughed, half choked when her hand lowered along his abdomen. He captured it in his with a soft warning. "Take care, my love…"

She pouted prettily up at him. "Why should I?"

"Trust me—"

"Remember our last night in Paris?" she breathed, focusing on his lips. "Maybe we could share a bath here, as well…provided no flood damage might occur in the floor below."

He dipped his head to kiss her soundly. "You are magnificent," he whispered, "and I want you so badly in this moment—"

"Not as much as I want you," she whispered, leaning into him.

"That is debatable," he breathed between kisses, "though I haven't the strength to argue."

"Save it for other endeavors," she sighed upon a laugh.

Sharing countless different kisses and positions, they were vaguely aware of the fact that they stood just beyond the kitchens and anyone might at any time pass by and discover them. Finally, frustrated more than he could have imagined, he rested his forehead against hers.

"What are we doing?" he groaned softly, gripping her tightly to stop her from pressing against him.

"Torturing ourselves," she said proudly.

He chuckled. "We're pathetic."

"Then let's find another hotel, Erik...maybe a walk would do us both good, at least until then."

He gently eased her away. "Everything decent is full to capacity...there are other conventions in the city, no doubt."

She straightened reluctantly, looking up at him with regret. "Well then we will just have to return to our respective rooms," she said resignedly, brushing aside a loose lock of hair. "But right now I must look a mess—"

"You look beautiful," he told her, taking her hand and moving back out into the corridor. "At least we might try a proper goodnight in your room, before the others finish and return."

"Good idea…" she whispered, transferring her hand to his arm as they reached the double doors of the kitchen.

Erik leaned close to peer through the small window in the door, seeing no one about. Smiling at their good timing, he gently pushed the door as he glanced at her. "All clear."

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	40. Chapter 40 Paths That Cross

_**Chapter 40 Paths That Cross**_

Considering herself on a mission, Meg half listened to Erik negotiate for a plate of food with the chef. Her stomach burned with hunger and her head felt strange from the champagne, yet she wanted to have a clear mind in choosing the perfect appetizer to hold them until the dinner hour. Lifting yet another lid from the two dozen pots simmering on the stove, she sniffed onion soup, judging it a bit strong and not quite right somehow. Replacing the lid she went on the next pot, then the next searching for that one aroma that stood out from the rest. It teased and beckoned nose, hinting at chicken sautéed in a mouthwatering blend of what could only be white wine and mushrooms. Tightening the heavy towel protecting her hand, she lifted the next lid, disappointed to find red potatoes in garlic and butter—no doubt delicious, but too starchy. She thought of the others standing in line, feeling a bit guilty. But then she shrugged it off, too happy to fuss over formalities.

_This is so much more fun than shuffling along in line,_ she decided, throwing a glance in Erik's direction. Her heart melted at the sight of him standing there with the chef, a patient expression on his masked face. Nearly two heads taller than the white aproned older man, he had crossed one arm over his chest to support the opposite elbow, his upraised hand cradling his chin. Listening politely to the mild scolding they were getting for trespassing onto the holy ground of the kitchen, she gently replaced yet another lid and gazed back at her husband. He stood in marked contrast to the chef, his lean but muscular build the opposite of the chef's girth which indicated his love of food. A little thrill shot through her as she relished Erik's new role as an attentive husband seeking to please his wife, and not just for her sake alone. This was quite a change for him, and she sighed happily in anticipation of the time when they had their own kitchen and could settle into married life as normal couples did. Passing over a skillet of sautéed vegetables, she tipped the lid and moved on to the next, glancing longing back at the sight of the man she loved.

As if sensing her regard, he looked up and held her gaze. In that moment they shared that pure form of silent communication and understanding that was slowly binding them together. It spoke more clearly and intently than any phrase or sentence, and she knew he was aware of it as well. Growing between them was a oneness of mind and spirit that stole away her breath away. As he looked into her soul she was vaguely aware of the chef's continuing lecture until he took a deep breath and placed a hand on Erik's arm, breaking the contact between them. As she watched a hint of a smile touch Erik's lips he nodded to the chef and slowly uncrossed his arms, glancing back at her with a genuine smile.

Returning one of her own, her heart skipped a beat at the heat in his gaze and she knew that in that moment life was perfect. His eyes devoured her even from a distance, sending off little tickles of excitement that scattered throughout her body. Her hand moved to lift the next lid and she found herself enveloped in a cloud of steam that identified itself as her goal. The chicken, she triumphed, smiling through the haze as his eyes held her captive. She watched his gaze flit down to her mouth, shift to the hand that held the lid, then back up to her masked face. Straightening as if coming to attention he leaned sideways toward the chef, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"I believe she has decided," she heard him inform the chef, who expressed his relief as he threw his hands heavenward and thanked God.

"Chicken," she breathed happily to no one in particular. "It smells wonderful."

The chef started toward her, picking up two appetizer plates on his way. Erik followed closely behind, his eyes holding hers over the man's white hat.

"I know it is one of the main courses," she began, "but please, just a little? We'll not ask for anything else."

Frowning as if insulted, the chef set the plates down and pinned her with a disapproving scowl. "But it must be approached in the proper manner, Madame, after the other two courses—"

"But we haven't time," she pleaded with a smile. "Please, just one small plate for the two of us?"

Sighing in resignation, he nodded, reaching for a serving spoon. "But not alone—it is part of a symphony of tastes—at least try it with the rice or potatoes."

She shifted her attention to her husband. "Erik, what do you think?"

"The vegetables," he declared, eyeing her as if she were the main course. She glanced at the chef, but he was busy spooning out their choices.

"One plate to share—" he declared, handing her the plate of chicken. "You, sir, gather the vegetables while I see to the dining staff. The first course is about to be served, so you will have to excuse me. I give you one quarter hour to sneak your food, but you must finish before we return."

"We appreciate your generosity," Erik said, deftly tucking two folded bills into the chef's shirt pocket. "I hope you will forgive our detaining you."

The chef stared up at him in shock, having guessed the amount of money just handed him. For a moment Meg wondered if they had insulted him with the bribe, but then he smiled radiantly and gripped Erik's hand. Pumping it in thanks he then pulled Erik into an enormous hug, laughing and declaring his appreciation for answered prayer. She watched them together, trying to hide her amusement at how stiffly Erik stood, enduring such a grand gesture of thanks.

The chef released Erik and stood glancing from him to Meg. "It is always a pleasure to serve young lovers!" he sang out and slapped Erik's back. "Correct me if I am wrong, Monsieur?"

Erik shifted his gaze to her, catching her hiding her laughter behind one hand. "And may I ask, Madame, what is so _amusing_?" 

"I'm sorry," she giggled, "but you looked so stiff and uncomfortable—"

"Ah, he is a man and not accustomed to it—" the chef declared, taking a moment to regard Erik. "They must learn to accept the affection of others," he stated, leaning closer to Erik. "It will make you a better lover," he finished in a hushed voice Meg could not help but overhear.

Blushing herself, she reached for one set of rolled up silverware. "He already is a wonderful lover," she defended. 

The chef raised his brows. "Pardon, monsieur," he apologized with a slight bow. "I meant no judgment, just a little tease—but now I must go—_bon appetit_!"

Erik picked up their plate, staring at the swinging doors left by the chef's departure. "At least we didn't have to steal anything," he commented dryly.

"I wasn't making fun of you," she explained, coming to his side. "It's just that I never saw anything embarrass you before."

He glanced down at her with a tender expression, tucking back a tendril of her hair. "I didn't think it was possible," he admitted. "Champagne does strange things to one's personality."

She grinned. "And not necessarily for the worst?"

He tilted his head, eyes burning into hers. "That remains to be seen…"

"I agree," she said, stroking her hand along his arm. "Had I known its effects I might not have swallowed an entire glassful."

His brows rose. "Have you never had champagne before?"

She shook her head. "And now you know how simple and foolish a girl you've married."

He traced his fingertips just beneath the line of her jaw. "Au contraire," he said softly, "you are complex and wise, capable of astonishing one as jaded and cynical as I by choosing me."

"That, dear husband, was the easiest decision I've ever made," she informed him, smoothing the lapel of his dinner jacket.

He snaked an arm around her waist. "What shocks me most is your commenting upon the subject of lovemaking before a complete stranger, and without any obvious embarrassment."

She smiled. "I felt we were in very accepting company with the chef."

"How did you come to that conclusion?"

"He appreciated our honesty, for we could have stolen his food without his knowledge or permission. Even beyond that, you paid him handsomely for it," she explained.

His eyes twinkled with admiration. "Interesting assessment of the situation—but perhaps we should continue our discussion later. We haven't much time before they return."

She pulled out a fork and stabbed a piece of chicken for him. "Good idea—" she declared, lifting it to his lips. "Now tell me what you think of my choice."

His eyes darkened with interest as he parted his lips, gently grasping the chicken between his teeth. Slowly taking it into his mouth, he chewed it slowly and swallowed it, all the while holding her gaze. She stared at his mouth and lifted a napkin to gently dab his lips. Leaning closer, she looked up into his eyes as he caught her wrist, halting her ministrations. She stared into his heated gaze. 

"Do you truly judge me a good lover?" he whispered, his eyes drifting toward her lips.

"Not just good," she whispered back, "but _wonderful_…"

He read the honesty in her eyes and took her hand, turning it to guide the fork back to the plate. In a similar manner he fed her a forkful while watching her ever move. She purposefully licked her lips with the tip of her tongue, a simple gesture that seemed to capture his full attention.

"And what about me?" she teased, feeling flushed at her own boldness. "How do you judge your simple little wife?"

He carefully placed both hands on her hips, pulling her closer. "I am truly blessed to have such a warm and passionate woman as my wife," he whispered, lowering his eyes to her lips, "and lover."

Thrilled at his response, she set aside the fork and slid her hands up his chest. Rising on tiptoe to kiss him, she closed her eyes when their lips touched. His breath caught as she stalled the kiss, then his arms circled her to lift her against him. Kissing her slowly but thoroughly, he teased and after a while withdrew to plant soft kisses down the side of her neck. Sighing with pleasure, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he lifted her and carried her upright across the room. She bunched the fine material at the back of his shoulders in her fists and kissed his neck, vaguely aware of passing down a hallway and backing into a tiny room. His boot kicked the door closed behind them and they were alone in the dimness of the linen closet.

Returning his ardent kisses in hungry frustration, she felt them dive into a swirling storm of passion where only the two of them existed. He lowered her to her toes as his hand moved restlessly over her spine while she cherished him with her touch. Soon they were tugging at each other's clothing yet when his shirt was half parted and her gown came off one shoulder he broke away and lifted his head. Gazing heavenward, he stiffened and closed his eyes while she pulled at his cummerbund to unwrap his waist. He reached for her hands and held them still while he gazed down at her, his eyes heavily lidded and drowsy with desire.

"Not here," he breathed, his expression filled with regret. 

She surged toward him, kissing his throat where she had parted his collar. "But we've nowhere else to go," she whispered as he gripped her waist and shook his head.

"You deserve better than this," he whispered back, tilting her chin up with one finger.

"I don't care, Erik—I need you."

"I need you too," he groaned softly, ducking his head to kiss her with renewed determination. She gripped his head and answered his kisses, but once again he put his hands on her arms and gently forced her away.

"You make me oblivious to everything," he confessed, shaking his head as if to chastise himself. "Tis a different kind of madness, one of pleasure, but madness nonetheless…"

"I know," she soothed, sliding her hands over the masculine contours of his chest, loving the feel of his strength. "I feel the same way—miserable, yet never happier."

He craned his neck toward the door. "They will be coming back, and your godparents will—"

"I don't want to go," she protested, gripping his waist.

"Nor do I," he admitted, molding his lips over hers in a teasing, erotic game that made her heart pound. She smoothed her hands along his sides and rested her fingertips upon his thighs, earning a muffled groan from him. He grasped her hand, turning toward the door and pulled her after him as he strode out into the corridor. 

Without another word he retraced their steps from the service wing all the way to the main lobby, keeping her by his side with an arm wound protectively around her waist. By now the line was gone, swallowed up by the noisy ballroom where the clink of silver against china and glass made delicate music beneath the roar of the crowd. Erik paused at the threshold, scrutinizing the crowded dining tables and lines moving along the banquet tables. She stood close to him, both arms resting around his waist as they breathed in the wonderful aroma of dinner. He looked down at her with a tight lipped expression.

"I'm tempted to take you upstairs," he said quietly, his eyes lit with the warm glow of desire she loved so much. Even as he said it he was guiding her toward the serving tables. 

"Please, Erik…"

He frowned, nodding toward their table. "Your godparents are waiting for you."

She looked up, holding his gaze. "And for you."

He nodded curtly, his gaze moving along the row of tables at the front of the room. "My young roommate begged me to introduce you; if we don't go to him he will come to us."

"Well, we don't want to disappoint anyone…" she sighed in resignation, touching his cheek.

He nodded tightly. "Then it is settled."

They picked up dinner plates and moved with the crowd, choosing smaller portions than most until they reached the chicken. With a curt bow he picked up a serving spoon and ladled a generous portion onto her plate, waiting for her reaction. The corners of his eyes crinkled as his lips spread into a seductive smile meant just for her.

"Let's finish what we started," he said quietly, his eyes firing a brighter green.

She smiled and curtsied, feeling a blush creep up her neck. Then picking up another spoon she dropped a large mound of potatoes onto his plate, not missing the soft chuckle that rose from deep within his chest. "Let's, and at least satisfy one hunger," she teased back, earning a hearty laugh from her new husband. 

_**Erik shook his head,**_ wondering how he had gotten himself into this position. Leaning back against the rim of the sink, he turned away from the wall of mirrors spanning the men's lavatory and sighed despite himself.

"I'm sorry," Joseph's small voice echoed toward him; "I won't be much longer."

"It's all right, Joseph," he said calmly, directing his gaze down the long line of enclosed stalls to the last one the boy had chosen. He was certainly not one to deny him his privacy. Thankfully no one else seemed to be in there with them. "Don't rush," he answered in as patient a tone as he could manage.

"Okay…"

He didn't fully understand the boy's fascination with him, aside from the air of mystery he seemed to exude. Joseph had given up his curiosity about what lay beneath Erik's bandages, at present apparently satisfied with the black satin mask that matched his own. Having met Meg, the boy was completely focused upon their relationship. Surely it was because Meg was so lovely, Erik reasoned, a direct contrast to his own appearance. After dining for an hour at their table, he had been beckoned by his family to return to his own, but Joseph delayed by asking Erik to bring him here, earning his father's permission. Against his better judgment Erik had agreed after watching the younger brother demand all of both his parents' attention.

"Do you think Meg will really save a dance for me?"

Erik looked up from his distracted study of the floor tiles. "If you ask her nicely, yes."

"Good, now all I have to do is convince Mother to take me to the ballet when we get back to Paris."

Erik chuckled to himself. "That might be a bit more difficult."

"I know," Joseph's sigh echoed. "I fought taking lessons for years...I used to think ballet was dumb, just for girls."

Trying not to laugh aloud, Erik looked up at the high ceiling. "Really?"

"Yeah, but when Meg told me about the parish boys making up their own dances…the ones who get sick in the sun…it changed my opinion, I guess."

"That would tend to do so."

"And I am looking to make new friends."

"I'm sure she will be happy to introduce you, when the boys come for a visit."

"Somebody's coming—" Joseph interrupted, "be quiet so nobody knows what I'm doing."

Erik turned quickly toward the mirrors at the sound of approaching footsteps. Pretending to be combing his hair, he glanced sideways and felt his heart stop. Coming up on his right side was Raoul de Chagny, accompanied by an older man who was complaining about a loss of revenue from his current inventory. Straightening his cuffs, Erik noted the two men following them in and the stance they took up at the opposite wall. Jerking his arms forward to begin washing his hands, his mind scrambled for a course of action even as he prayed he would not be recognized. Raoul answered the man in a clipped tone, his voice trailing off after a moment. The older man stopped in mid sentence and there was a pregnant pause.

"You!"

Continuing to lather his hands, Erik pretended not to notice the menacing outburst.

Raoul came up to his side, leaning close to peer up at him. "It is you!" he declared when Erik looked up. Raoul's eyes narrowed upon his. "What are you doing here? And how dare you show yourself in public—"

Erik felt the water sluicing over his wrists, his mind curiously blank. To his knowledge, Raoul had not levied any charges against him, and his menacing glare came as a shock. "I beg your pardon—"

"I asked you a question," Raoul snarled, reaching over his hands to shut off the water.

"I am attending the convention—" 

"Get him out of here!" Raoul ordered, glaring at the two men standing along the wall. "I want him out of the building—now!"

"Monsieur de Chagny," the older man soothed, gripping Raoul's arm only to have his hand shaken off.

"Wait—please," Erik urged, straightening to his full height as he dried his hand. His first thought was for Joseph' safety as he raised a hand in supplication. "Perhaps we might speak in a more private place—"

"If you ever come anywhere near her again, you will regret it—" Raoul threatened, not breaking eye contact. "I said get him out of here—now!"

It happened so suddenly that Erik was strangely thankful, for it meant that Joseph remained hidden. He was grabbed from behind, his arms pulled painfully behind his back. "There is no need for violence—I'll leave," he began just as one of the men punched him forcefully in the stomach. Gasping for breath, he doubled over, gripping the edge of the sink with one hand.

"I will kill you if you even come near her again—" Raoul snarled. "I don't believe your written confession of having changed at all, so be forewarned!"

As he began to straighten Erik was pulled back against the other man and held in place while his assailant struck the right side of his face. A second blow landed just beneath his malformed eye, answered by the sick sound of cartilage breaking. Blood gushed from his nose as he choked and tried to breathe. Another blow to his right temple and midsection made him lose his balance. They pulled him between them and half dragged him from the room. The last thing he thought of before losing consciousness was Joseph, alone in the last stall without anyone to rescue him. 

_**Mrs. Brigham**_ waved the paper before Meg's face, momentarily distracting her from her concern. Erik had taken Joseph to the lavatory, and though his father had just explained that sometimes he tarried long, she sensed that something was terribly wrong.

"Have you seen this, dear?" the older widow repeated. "It's so exciting—the Opera Touring Company from Paris is staying here, right in this hotel—that is why we're all wearing masks--tomorrow night is their first performance! A new opera called _Don Juan_!"

Effectively capturing her attention, she snatched the flyer up and read it carefully, scanning the names printed in boldface across its center.

"No!" was all she could choke, her hands gripping the edges of the paper as she stared at the performer's names.

"Surely you've heard of it, my dear," Mrs. Brigham continued, her voice lowered. "It is the sensation of Europe—they say it is dark and sensuous…why, you must take that man of yours to see it."

"Erik…" she said softly, unable to look up as her hand fell to her lap, still clutching the flyer.

"We're going tomorrow night, in fact why don't you both join us? I realize some men loathe opera—"

"We have other plans," she stated, finally able to look up and meet Mrs. Brigham's disappointed expression. Forcing a smile despite her churning stomach, Meg swallowed, handing it back. "But thank you."

"Oh no—you keep it," Mrs. Brigham insisted, examining her features carefully. "In case you change your mind...now that I think about it, you and your dashing husband should go alone, just the two of you—more romantic that way."

At that moment Meg heard her roommates' voices and knew that she had to find Erik before they came over and detained her. She got to her feet and turned to leave. "Maybe you're right," she said, waving as she rushed off, leaving the women to stand staring after her.

"Oh to be young and in love…" Mrs. Brigham sighed, patting Sarah's gloved hand.

Her throat dry, Meg maneuvered her way across the crowded foyer in search of the men's restroom. How could this be? she wondered, pausing to let a group of distinguished looking gentleman pass before her. She started again, not sure where it was located, and pulled off her mask to see her way more clearly. Lifting the hem of her gown, she rushed toward the opposite side of the room.

"Meg Giry! Is that you?"

She whirled around, having recognized that voice all too clearly. Her heart pounded in fear, but she saw her coming toward her.

"Meg?" Christine breathed, pushing aside an older man who stared at her rudely. She came right up to her and halted, her expression glowing with excitement. "It is you! I knew it!"

Unable to move or speak, Meg felt herself embraced and woodenly raised her hands to Christine's upper back. When she drew back to look at her, it seemed that Christine looked paler and thinner than before. Trying to focus her mind while she worried about Erik, she breathed a greeting back as Christine brought her up to date on her marriage and tour. Then she stopped mid speech, her eyes resting on the hand she picked up and held between hers. 

"Look at _your _ring!" Christine breathed, her eyes lifting to Meg's. "What haven't you told me, Marguerite?"

"It's my wedding ring," she managed to choke, the words sounding hollow, as if someone else had spoken them.

Christine stared at her, slowly releasing her hand. Her expression changed into a happy smile. "That _was_ him," she said softly. "That man you were in line with—that was your husband…"

Heart pounding, Meg swallowed. "You saw him?"

Christine nodded happily. "Yes, but not clearly enough—I wasn't even sure it was you, neither was Raoul—"

"Raoul's here," Meg gasped, "and saw him—us?"

Christine's smile changed to puzzled surprise. "Yes, we're here with the touring company for _Don Juan_—but you couldn't know that, could you? Your mother said you went to stay abroad, but I was so worried—"

"I'm fine—I just took a little trip—"

"We all thought that _he_ kidnapped you, but now I see it wasn't that at all! You eloped, didn't you? Now who _is_ he, and where did you meet him?"

Suddenly aware of the crowd around them, Meg reached for her hand. "Come with me," she interrupted, grasping her hand and pulling her toward the women's lavatory. It was the only place they could be alone and not risk running into either Erik or Raoul.

"Are you feeling all right, Meg? You look so pale suddenly."

Pushing open the carved door of the lavatory, Meg led her toward the opposite side of the room. It was crowded but she managed to steer them into a more private corner. Christine reached up to pat her elaborate hairstyle as she glanced in the mirror.

"Tell me all the details—though if you met him abroad I might not know him or his family, but Raoul might."

Meg took her hands and forced her to look at her. "His name is Destler, Christine," she said carefully, watching her closely.

Christine's face glowed with expectant pleasure. "I don't think I know that name…"

"Erik Destler," Meg said quietly, squeezing her hands.

Her eyebrows lifted as Christine's smile began to fade. "What did you say?"

Meg leaned closer. "My husband's name is Erik Destler—and I love him very much."

Christine drew back slowly, her expression beginning to register shock. "Destler? No…not—the composer?"

"Yes, Christine," Meg soothed, slowly releasing her hands and twisting her own together. "I married Erik Destler…the phantom of the opera…" 

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	41. Chapter 41 And Lead Away

_**Chapter 41 And Lead Away**_

Slowly coming to his senses, Erik opened his left eye, immediately panicking when he could not open the other. Blinking in shock, he realized something was pressing it down. With careful determination he lifted his hand and gently touched layers of what felt like bandaging over his eye. Upon further exploration he realized that it covered the upper two-thirds of the right side of his face. Strips of linen seemed to be wound around his head, and his nose was taped and swathed in the stuff. With rapidly accelerating heartbeats he struggled to catch his breath, suddenly overwhelmed with panic and nauseated by the strong odor of bleach surrounding him. It emanated from the coarse sheets beneath him as well as the nightshirt he wore, beneath which he was naked. Breathing through his mouth and forcing himself to slow the panting which knifed pain at his side, he shivered and lay slowly back. His mind raced back into the past and he was left to conclude that Raoul's men had succeeded in putting him in hospital. Yet he had no idea why.

Turning his head slowly to the right but careful to prevent it from touching the pillow raised behind his head, he took stock of his position while his head swam and he gripped what felt like cracked ribs. Beneath his new mask of bandages his face felt stiff and sore, his nose undoubtedly broken. Fighting to control his anger and grief, he turned again toward the half opened door of his room and for the first time took an interest in something beyond his own suffering.

Out in the hallway he could see that a man sat slumped in a chair directly across from his room, apparently asleep. After a few moments of study he gave up trying to identify him and gazed back at the opposite wall of his room. The single window was shuttered and emitted only a few slanted rays of sunlight that streaked the battered bureau and table—late afternoon sun, he judged.

Trying to lift his head he was swept by a wave of dizziness and nausea. Resting back, he lay panting against the rib pain, too sore to breathe deeply enough to force it away. When it finally passed he gazed back toward the man, who it seemed had repositioned himself and sat dozing a bit higher in his chair. Erik recognized him immediately.

Resisting a powerful urge to shout and wake him up, he pursed his lips and kept still. His thoughts darted back and forth from distant to recent past, but he could remember nothing since the beating. Had Joseph remained hidden in the back of the men's lavatory, smart enough to keep quiet? How had he ended up here, by Raoul's men? It was doubtful they would be so gracious, he thought cynically. Several glaring inconsistencies assaulted his mind, foremost of which was the fact that Meg was nowhere to be seen. Another was that he had been defeated in a fight, which had never happened to him before, at least not since attaining the age of 16. Thirdly, Detective Gilbert was sitting like a guard outside his door, not doing a very good job of it. As he stared at him, willing him to wake up, Erik began to consider other possibilities.

_Am I under arrest? If so, for what—missing a deadline with Leger? Violating my parole? Is that why Meg is not here—no visitors? Or am I too sick? Is there something seriously wrong with me, only recently found out and too much for a young wife to handle?_

Unable to rationalize any of the above, he tried comparing the beating administered by the Buquet brothers with this more recent one. Strangely, this one had left him suffering considerably more, for he shook with the cold and felt inordinately weak and sick. His head ached and his face burned and throbbed. His bandaged eye was wet, it hurt to breathe and he desperately needed something to drink. Feeling uncharacteristically helpless, he groped blindly at the thin blanket, pulling it high enough to bunch it at the base of his neck in one fist. Doing so caused his knuckles to brush the skin of his throat and he gasped in pain. Upon exploring his throat and the back of his neck, he discovered what must be bruises but did not remember anyone trying to choke him. Even the back of his head was painful to touch, yet he could not remember taking a beating there. What had happened?

The door squeaked softly and he snapped to attention, finding a woman dressed in white standing there. She smiled and touched the edge of his door. "Monsieur Arnon—you are finally awake!" she whispered, glancing toward Gilbert and back. "He has not left since bringing you to the emergency ward."

Erik tried to swallow and protest, but she smiled and came toward him, reaching for something on the bedside table. Uncorking a small bottle, she spilled a few drops of liquid into a glass of water. Moistening his lips in anticipation of a drink, he waited until she glanced back.

"Wrong patient," he gasped, his throat parched and his voice barely audible. "My name is—"

"Giles Arnon—" she stated. "No need for alarm—patients often suffer from confusion, Monsieur; it will pass." Confident and professional, she turned away and concentrated on stirring the medication into the water.

Too weak to argue, Erik dropped the matter of his identity and waited for that drink. Unfortunately she picked up his hand and held his wrist between her fingers. Pulling up a watch which was pinned to the side of her uniform, she studied it closely before setting his hand back upon his lap. Ignoring his questioning look with a slight smile, she laid her hand on the left side of his brow just as a new onslaught of shivering took him.

"Your fever is down, so it must be the cold: I will see about raising the temperature of your room, for the weather has turned unseasonably cold," she informed him. "So, how is your pain?"

"Fine if I don't breathe," he groaned, shifting his attention to the glass she was picking up. Without comment she slid a hand beneath his head and lifted. Though pain knifed throughout his side he held the position, staring at the drink poised before him. Then, to his grateful lips she pressed the rim, still supporting his head.

"Drink," she ordered, "it will help you manage the pain."

Before he had begun to satisfy his thirst she withdrew it with a scolding smile. "Not so much; first we must see if you can keep it down."

The taste was acrid but the liquid cooled his tongue, bathing his raw throat and trickling down into his chest. He felt her hand slip out from beneath his head and laid back in grateful relief. "Th' you," he sighed, closing his eyes.

"Dr. Hommes is overdue in arriving, but should be here momentarily," she informed him.

Opening his left eye and too aware of the right one attempting to follow it, he stared at her. "Hommes?" he gasped, shifting his attention to the tiny pair of scissors she held poised over his head, "—my doctor?"

She nodded, lifting a corner of his bandage and snipping the edge. "You may not remember him—" 

"I do—but is he not a surgeon?"

Snipping again, she glanced down at him. "You were in his surgery, Monsieur."

Puzzled, he dared another, more vital question. "My wife been here?"

She pulled off a layer of gauze and set it aside. "To my knowledge your only visitor has been the man in the chair, and his partner."

There was a tap on the door and they both looked up. "Ah, Dr. Hommes!" she called, glancing toward her patient. "He's just had his medication and is ready for your examination."

"Awake at last—" Jean stated, shifting his attention to the hall where Gilbert was beginning to stir. "As is your guard."

The detective straightened, looking up groggily. "That's me," he admitted, shifting to the edge of his chair as he eyed Erik. "So you've finally come to your senses," he observed, getting up and walking toward the room.

"As have you," Erik rasped, shifting his attention to Jean as he came to stand over him. "Am I glad to see you, Doctor."

Jean nodded to the nurse, prompting her to lay down her scissors. She patted Erik's shoulder. "Dinner will be here soon; I'll be back to check on you afterward."

"I'll leave my orders on his chart," he told her, glancing at Erik. "We must be sure you keep the medication down before you eat anything—I don't want anything disturbing your stitches."

_Stitches?_

The nurse passed Gilbert as he entered the room and closed the door behind him. Erik, however, kept his attention on Jean. "Where is Marguerite?"

Jean frowned as he threw Gilbert a scathing look, who smiled sympathetically. "I'm afraid she left for Paris two days ago," he answered for Jean.

Stunned, Erik held Jean's apologetic gaze. "But why? How long have I been here?"

"Since that time," he answered. "She does not know what happened to you, Erik."

"Nor will she," Gilbert stated, capturing Erik's attention. "We must insist upon it, at least for now."

"I doubt you have the right," Erik said after a pregnant pause.

"Ah but we do, given the specifics of your parole."

Jean put a hand on his shoulder. "Something happened to upset her, Erik: she took the train back alone, we discovered. Rosalie left on the next one to find out why."

"Left her room key at the desk before dessert was served," Gilbert stated. "But don't worry, we have confirmed her arrival in Paris and she is staying with her mother."

Erik hardened his glare. "My wife needs to know what happened to me, and why I have not contacted her."

Gilbert shook his head. "It is too dangerous, for her as well," he informed him. "Your identity has been compromised, as has your assigned duties."

"I don't care about my 'duties,'" Erik croaked. "I wish to see my wife!"

"Until we can ensure your safety as well as hers you must have no contact," Gilbert insisted. "When you are well enough to travel you may return, but until then rest and keep quiet, _Mon. Arnon_."

"So that is my new name?" Erik choked.

"Out, Giles Arnon," Gilbert nodded.

"International spy," Erik would have laughed had he not been in pain. "Are you married, Detective Gilbert?" he accused.

"No, but that has noth—"

"Then please, let me explain the importance of contacting one's wife—no, on second thought let me remind you that my wife is not your concern."

"Erik please," Jean interjected, "Rosalie will contact me as soon as she knows what happened: you've been through a lot—just try to be patient and rest for now."

"Does Rosalie know what happened—that I am here?" Erik retorted.

"No—she followed Meg as I was called here to Emergency: neither of us had any idea it was to tend to you."

"We must be sure no one knows of your presence," Gilbert lectured. "It is for your own protection, and your wife's."

"She needs to know why I have not gone to her," Erik insisted, looking at Jean. "And I need to know why she left."

Jean nodded. "I understand —"

"Whoever beat you and left you for dead is still roaming the streets," Gilbert interrupted. "Until we find them we must do everything we can to prevent them from finishing the job—"

"I know who did it," Erik breathed, placing a hand on his aching head as doctor and detective exchanged glances.

"Then perhaps you might inform us and save us some work," Gilbert accused.

"No charges will be filed," Erik said tiredly, feeling the medication begin taking effect.

"But Erik, you suffered a malicious attack," Jean said, looking even more upset. "I wished to spare you the details, but you must know that your cheekbone was shattered, your nose broken and your eye compromised, not to mention your two cracked ribs."

Erik began to realize why he felt so sick. "That sounds suspiciously like the surgery you described."

"It is exactly what I described," Jean stated, "but you suffered the worst part without anesthesia."

"So they saved you some work," Erik said grimly, closing his eyes.

"You must file charges—" Gilbert insisted, "get those men off the streets—at least tell us who they are."

"I said no."

"Detective, I must proceed with my examination," he heard Jean declare. "We'll speak outside afterward."

He heard footsteps and the squeak of the door as it opened. "Don't go anywhere, either of you," Gilbert warned.

As soon as he heard the door close Erik threw an arm over his forehead, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. Apparently Meg had left him, yet he had no idea why. Worse, his usual defense of anger was nowhere to be found, but instead and to his horror he felt like weeping. Jean patted his shoulder and he swallowed a sob of grief.

"It's the after effects of the anesthesia," Jean said knowingly. "Nothing I have not seen before, and in your case you need to yield to it, if only to relieve some of your frustration."

Erik dropped his arm and opened his good eye. "What happened that night?" he wondered more to himself than Jean. "I need to know why she left."

"Women do these things, Erik, often on impulse—give her time to work through her feelings—"

"She will expect me to come to her," he disagreed.

"Well you're not going anywhere if I can help it, so blame me," Jean said good naturedly, picking up the tiny scissors. "Blame the men who did this to you, blame the surgery, blame the detective, but do it quietly while I check my work."

Erik felt deft fingers lift and snip the gauze away as he pondered the advice given him. "Well the police got their wish: a new face and a new name for me—Giles Arnon."

"Apparently," Jean said, setting aside a thick square of linen, which to Erik's distaste was covered with blood. "Who knows, maybe it will distract Meg enough to forget whatever upset her."

"It was nothing that I did," Erik breathed, grasping his side. "We were managing exceedingly well."

"Then it must have been _Don Juan_."

Erik tensed, staring up at him. "_Don Juan?_ What do you mean?"

"The masquerade ball—" Jean stated, lifting away another layer of gauze. "It was to premiere the opening of _Don Juan_— I thought you knew."

"Here, in Brussels?" Erik wondered. So Raoul had not pursued him for revenge—he was here with the touring company, which meant that Christine was…

"You and the boy must have left right before the announcement," Jean explained.

Erik gripped his arm. "Joseph—is he all right?"

"I do not know," Jean said with a worried frown. "I came here before he returned."

"I should have asked Gilbert—what is wrong with me?"

"You are understandably traumatized, Erik—now one last piece and then we'll have a look…"

Erik tensed as the gauze stuck and pulled at his skin. Closing his eyes, he stilled as Jean's expert touch explored his handiwork. There was a pause before something warm and moist gently patted his face, then something hard pressed his hand.

"Have a look at your new face."

Not sure he was ready for it, Erik kept his eyes closed. "I don't care about that now."

"You had better care—your surgery went very well, tricky as it was," Jean scolded gently. "I am confident that when fully recovered you will find yourself free to go anywhere you wish without hiding anything. Think what that will do for your marriage, Erik."

_If I still have a marriage...  
_  
"Open both eyes," Jean ordered, and when he did he leaned closer, tensing as Jean pulled gently at his eyelids. "As expected, your eye is completely bloodshot, but very well situated…how is your vision?"

Erik blinked to clear what appeared to be salve, as well as extreme tearing. "A bit blurry…"

"We'll keep it uncovered save for the outer stitching," Jean declared, reaching for a new piece of gauze. "The bruising and swelling will lessen considerably after another week…"

Grateful for the medication the nurse had given him, Erik still felt dull pain and pressure as he tightened his fingers around the mirror handle, battling his indecision about looking.

"Go ahead, take a look."

Obeying rather than deciding he lifted the mirror and stared at himself in disgust, not at all comforted by Jean's quiet laugh.

"You haven't a surgeon's eye of course, but trust me—vast improvements were made to your bone structure. You will no doubt feel better than you've ever felt before."

Erik laid the mirror down. "What about scarring?"

Jean shrugged. "There will unfortunately be some irregularity alongside the nose, but nothing startling. The lower eyelid will shrink back to normal in no time."

Erik rested his head back, staring at the ceiling while Jean redressed his nose and outer eye. Its eerie redness unnerved him, but without the pad covering it he felt considerably less discomfort. Switching his attention back to Meg, he glanced up at Jean's attentive eye.

"Can you get word to her for me?"

There was a pregnant pause as Jean looked away. "You heard Gilbert…"

"I don't care what he says."

"I will not help you violate your parole," he sighed, applying ointment to his eye. 

Frustrated, Erik pursed his lips and rethought his approach. "There were no restrictions on family contact in the papers I signed."

Jean looked up. "Perhaps a lawyer might be in order, then."

"Though I have my doubts concerning the legality of our arrangement, for now I ask for your help."

Jean sighed dramatically. "All right, but only if you will be a good patient and do exactly as I tell you. I will telegram Rosalie tonight if I do not hear from her."

The newly placed bandages made his nose ache, but he nodded. "I appreciate that..now when can I get out of here?" 

Jean glanced toward the closed door. "If you improve well enough I might be able to negotiate with the detective and get you back to Paris within the week."

"Too long, and I prefer going without him."

"No, Erik—I'll not risk anyone tampering with my good work. You must take advantage of his escort, or our deal is cancelled."

Erik closed his eyes, exhausted. "I suppose I shall have to settle for that…" Inwardly he prayed that Meg would not hold the delay against him.

_**Two weeks later**_

"_He's changed so much, Christine—he's a different man now, and a wonderful husband. We are very happy together—_aaghhh!" Meg groaned in disgust, flinging her shoes against the wall, one after another. Throwing things somehow made her feel a bit better, but she knew it was only temporary. Christine's words kept repeating over and over in her mind ever since their fateful encounter. Every detail was etched upon her memory no matter how hard she tried to erase it, especially the expression on Christine's face: a mixture of disbelief, distress, pity and condescension all combined to reveal that her only friend now judged her a fool. And now as the days lengthened into weeks, she had to admit that Christine might have been right.

"How could I have been so gullible and naive?" she whispered, placing a hand to her brow. She had sincerely believed in Erik's love, but that was before she knew the truth…

_How can you have anything to do with him, after what he did to me?_ Christine had railed at her.

_But he loved you!_ she'd accused, eager to defend her husband. _How could you betray him the way you did, Christine? You broke his heart, and his spirit—  
_  
_I had to—he wouldn't take no for an answer—_

_Because you teased him and led him on, then drove him mad with jealousy! And if that wasn't enough, Christine, you stripped off his mask in front of everyone at the premiere of his opera!  
_  
_But how could you marry him, Meg? He is out of his mind—insane! Everyone knows that!  
_  
"I didn't know how much he loved you, that's how I could marry him!" she said aloud, picking up the clothes she had strewn over the chair. "And I certainly never knew how much you both really shared," she choked, tears flooding her eyes. "Or the fact that he gave you a wedding ring!"

Suddenly her own ring caught the light and she came to a standstill. Slowly lifting her hand, she studied the way it sparkled and captured the eye. The memory of Erik's eyes lit with heated desire came to her so unexpectedly that she reached out to steady herself, placing a hand on her bed post. She closed her eyes as his sensual whisper filled her mind as clearly as if her were present. With a ragged sigh she admitted to herself that she still loved him and probably always would. He haunted her dreams and teased her memory during waking hours, proving her weakness for him.

Opening her eyes she turned abruptly, stalking over to the pile of clothing strewn upon her bed. Reaching for a blouse, she folded it with renewed determination to put not only her room but her life in order. Without being asked to, Christine had shared with her how Erik had wooed her, touched her with his voice and his hands and weakened her resolve until she was his captive. Without Raoul, she had confessed, she never would have had the strength to leave him. Meg had to admit that she had fallen victim to him as well, but in running away from him she had not rejected him. The difference was that Erik was her husband now, for better or for worse. The note she had left for him would explain why she had to get away to sort things out and overcome her anger at both of them. They would need to discuss the entire matter of Christine, she had written. Though his delay in coming after her was decidedly worrisome, Inspector Leger had reassured her that Erik was unavoidably detained with business. She was left to trust him and respect their agreed upon confidentiality, so she fought to be patient and picked up a stack of folded clothing to carry to the wardrobe.

"Why didn't he ever tell me anything, especially about a wedding ring?" she wondered, shaking her head. More importantly, what else could he be hiding from her?

The knock on the door startled her, and when she opened it her mother stood there, narrowing her gaze upon her face before shifting it to her room. "I heard noises, like something falling—"

"I'm fine," Meg interjected as she marched back to the bed to fold the rest of her things. "Just cleaning up."

Louise came in and closed the door behind herself. "Yes, I can see that."

Quickening her folding, she ignored her mother's sarcasm as well as the weight of her stare. After a few moments Louise sighed in frustration. "When are you going to come to your senses and answer him?"

Frowning, Meg glanced at her mother. "When I'm ready, Maman, and no sooner."

Louise gripped her arm, stopping her. "Marguerite Giry, you are a married woman now—stop acting like a child!"

Shaking off her mother's hand she turned back to her folding. "I'm not acting like a child—"

"Then stop acting like someone died—if you miss him then it is your own fault!"

She turned to face her mother, hands planted on her hips. "How can you be so harsh, Maman? You know all that I have been through, all I've suffered—"

Louise huffed in disapproval. "Your only suffering is from entertaining Christine's gossip," she answered, crossing her arms. "I think your time would be better spent finding out what your husband has to say about the matter."

"He had plenty of opportunity to tell me, and besides Christine is just worried about me."

"She is only worried about herself—use your head, Marguerite: Erik loves you, and you know it!"

"I _thought _he loved me, but that was before I found out that he had asked Christine to marry him!"

"How long ago was that, _ma petite_? And did he not express his love to you in a much more profound way than he did with Christine?"

Meg looked away. "He never said that he loved me, Maman…that is what haunts me still." 

"Give him time, and do not judge him by _her_ word. Answer his requests to see you—"

"I'm afraid to!" she gasped, gripping her mother's hands. "All I have to do is look into those eyes of his and I will be lost!"

"I can think of worse fates! But I know those eyes very well and they never lie," Louise reminded her. "Just remember how they have looked upon you, petite…that is all that matters." 

_**Erik covered his face**_ with his hands, choking with great sobs that felt as if they would rend his chest. Rain pelted against his thin shirt, molding it to his body as the wind whipped it out from his back, driven by the howling winds. The fury of the storm only added to his misery, punishing him a as he released all his pain and grief kept hidden inside. After weeks of fighting his feelings he yielded to the obvious truth, no longer able to deny her leaving. With bent head and eyes squeezed shut he could see her face, the love and desire in her eyes. Fisting his hands he threw back his head and addressed the ominously darkening skies.

"Whyyyyy?" he cried hoarsely, hearing his voice caught by the wind and carried away. He choked back a sob, shaking his head. "Why did you give her to me, only to take her away?"

It was a desperate plea, one he had left unspoken for too long. His only answer was the fury of the storm, not the voice he so longed to hear. Days of pouring over his Bible and praying had yielded no answer, and his anger erupted. Shoved by a gust of wind, he held his ground upon the granite summit and continued to voice his objections.

"I loved her!" he yelled, staring through the sheets of rain which now slanted sideways. Rivulets of water streamed down his face, brushed away by the angry swipe of his hand. "Really loved her!" he insisted. "It was not an illusion, it was real!"

His voice caught on every other word, ripped from him by his grief. His bag flapped against his hip, throwing him off balance. A branch clipped his shoulder as it flew by, making him spring into action. Running along the ridge, he bent to pick up a limb and flung it over the edge, pausing to stare down as it sailed toward the valley below. With a satisfied grin, he bent and picked up a rock, moving closer toward the precipice and drawing back his arm.

"Look at me!" he screamed, flinging it over the edge. "Alone again! Left to my own miserable company—do you _see_ me? Do you _hear_ meeee?"

Only the wild gusts of wind answered him, and when his bag twisted at his side he pulled it from his shoulder and flung it away as he accused whoever was in charge of the nasty turn of events. "Fine! I don't need your advice! I was _fine_ before, and I'll be _fine_ now!" he choked, watching the flap open and spill out the contents of his things. "In fact—" he gasped with a wry smile, "I don't need a single thing!"

Watching all the necessary items of daily use fall below, he felt strangely free and rested his hands upon his hips as they crashed to the rocks below. The rain thundered down upon him in a punishing burst of fury yet he stood there attempting to force the past from his mind. Then, as if the deed was done, he turned and trudged back toward the road. With steps that were somewhat erratic, he admitted his exhaustion, fixing his eyes upon the lights below and trusting them to guide him to shelter. He would make a bed in the horse barn, hoping that Isaac would not be up this late. His only goal was to return to the parish undiscovered, get out of the rain and fall into the arms of oblivious sleep. 

_**Arlene gripped Sarita's hand**_ as they listened intently, bent together near the door to Meg's room. From deep within its confines they could hear an occasional muffled sound, barely audible. A broken sob, a shudder—definitely a man's voice. The burden of prayer she had carried for weeks began to make sense, and when she concluded who it was she looked into Sarita's worried gaze.

"I heard someone stumbling down the hall and went to my door," the girl whispered in explanation. "I only peeked out, so I could not see much." 

"You acted wisely," Arlene said softly, patting her hand. "Tell me whatever you saw."

"He was very tall, with very dark hair, and soaking wet."

Arlene nodded. "How long ago?"

"A quarter of an hour…I waited a few minutes before coming to tell you."

"Do not worry," she said, nodding toward the opposite end of the corridor before they headed there. When they were out of range of being overheard, she faced the girl.

"What man would be bold enough to enter the women's quarters?" Sarita thought aloud. "He even locked himself in."

Arlene glanced back toward Meg's door. "How was he dressed?"

"He was muddy and disheveled, and all he wore was a thin white shirt and black trousers."

"Did he seem hurt, or sick?"

Sarita chewed her lip before answering. "He leaned his forehead against the door, as if he was resting or perhaps undecided. I really thought he would change his mind and leave, so long did he tarry."

"Did he do anything else, or say anything?"

Sarita nodded. "He touched the door with his fingertips and whispered something I could not hear. I thought I heard a sob, but then he straightened and let himself in."

"He did not see you?"

"I doubt it. When I heard the latch I ran to get you...what shall we do?"

Arlene straightened and exhaled a breath. "Do not let anyone disturb him, understand?"

Though she looked confused, the girl nodded. "Of course, Madame."

"If your hear anything alarming, anything violent or any indication that he has fallen, come and get me or Pieter at once, otherwise don't go near the door. If you hear him in the hall do not approach him."

"But the rules—no men are allowed—"

"Please, Sarita, we must make an exception in this case."

"But why?"

"Because I believe it is Meg's husband who has returned to us. They were married here, just before you arrived…something must have happened to upset him, but for now we must let him rest."

"Did he not have a room in the men's building?"

"He did, but he has come here instead. I want you to have a tray brought here with breakfast but just leave it in front of the door. Do not knock or call to him, understood?"

Sarita nodded. "Yes, but I will pray for him."

"Good…we will all be praying for him. His name is Erik, and he is a good man," Arlene said, turning to leave. Then she changed her mind. "One more thing—if you should see his face, try not to be alarmed."

"Is he the one whom I've heard about, the one with the mask?"

"Yes, but he does not wear it here. Just pretend he is one of your patients and you will be fine."

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	42. Chapter 42 Ghost Writer

_**Chapter 42 Ghost Writer**_

Christine stepped up to the ornately carved door to Raoul's office, knocking gently although it was half opened. When he looked up, she forced a smile she did not feel. "I hope I'm not interrupting," she said hesitantly, watching him shove something into the top drawer of his desk.

"No, of course not," he smiled woodenly, rising as he closed the drawer. He waved her in as his expression furrowed. "What's wrong, darling?"

Entering and closing the door behind her, she leaned back against it to study him. "What do you do in here for so many hours?"

Raoul had always been pleasantly vague about his work and business dealings, but lately she felt as if something pressed down upon him, trapping them both. The hours he spent at the opera house lengthened so that she often found herself dining alone, and when he was home he stayed up late in his office. Business associates flowed in and out of the estate, whereas before their return to Paris he had gone to them. The bodyguards she so strongly resented continued to watch over both of them despite several arguments they had shared on that subject. As she eyed him critically for the first time, it seemed to her that the happier days of their marriage were a distant memory, with a different man. And now she had caught him hiding something from her in that desk drawer over which he hovered.

Raoul slid several sheets of paper beneath a file before he stepped out from behind his desk and came toward her. "You know I have several estates to manage, Christi," he breathed, "not to mention my responsibilities at the opera."

"The managers have returned and they have a well respected accountant," she stated, trailing her fingertips along the edge of his desk as she avoided going to him.

"But I'm on the board, darling," he laughed gently. "All that is without considering how hard I must work to keep my voice even half balanced against yours."

The sudden memory of her Angel's voice came to her then, unbidden and powerful. The phantom had such power and emotion, and for the first time she realized that she and Raoul were now in the same position, only with their roles reversed. Whereas before she had labored to hold her own against the phantom's voice, now Raoul had to put in hours of practice just to manage the dark and magnificent music of _Don Juan_. Only a month remained before the full production premiered, and having been in his position herself, she could not help but sympathize with Raoul's.

"But your voice is coming along well," she said, "and I thought the rest of the board members had come over to your side."

"It's a delicate balance, Christi," he soothed, taking her hand. "But the question I think we are avoiding her concerns you—and don't tell me there is nothing troubling you."

She held his gaze, expelling a breath of resignation. "It's Meg," she admitted, watching him grimace as he led her toward the burgundy settee. They sat down together, but he kept her hand as he turned sideways to face her.

"You take her situation too much to heart," he lectured. "Besides, we already discussed this and are doing all we can to distract her."

"It won't work," she sighed. "I just found out from one of the chorus girls that she was seen coming out of my old dressing room again."

Raoul lifted a brow as he studied her expression. "Does she really think he'll come back?"

"I'm afraid so, and when I confronted her about it she began to cry," Christine related. "She believes that she went too far in getting so angry and leaving before he did. She's worried that he has misinterpreted her but the authorities have refused to let them have any contact. She is not sleeping well, Raoul, and she goes down to his quarters when she thinks no one will see."

"What? I thought the police blocked off all the access routes to the underground."

"She's found another way down," Christine sighed. "Meg believes they can work out their problems once his parole work allows him the time. She even went to Inspector Leger to find out when that would be. I tried telling her that it's hopeless, even if he has somehow changed—there are just too many obstacles working against them."

"Indeed," Raoul agreed.

"Her brother Ben came to see her to convince her to leave him; he even sided with her against Madame Giry, who for some unknown reason thinks they belong together!"

Raoul leaned back against the settee. "There seems to be no end to that beast's dark influence over all our lives, even from so far away!"

Christine narrowed her gaze upon him. "What do you mean, 'so far away'?"

Raoul paused momentarily, then held up his hands. "He's still here, casting a dark shadow over us all—"

"No—the part about him being so far away—do you know where he is?"

"Well it's obvious that he's out there somewhere, working off his sentence. My sources report him traveling in and out of the country serving as some sort of political courier, but I truly doubt that. "

Christine felt her unease grow as she watched him glance at the mantle clock and get up. As he strolled to his briefcase and carried it to the desk, he slipped those papers out from beneath the file and inserted them into his case, quickly fastening it. Something was wrong, but she couldn't quite place it.

"We will have to discuss Meg later," he apologized with a smile. "Why don't we have an early lunch in town, before my meeting?"

She stood and crossed her arms. "Raoul, I have a feeling that you know more than you're sharing; you know where he is, don't you?"

Raoul laughed and picked up his briefcase, coming toward her. "Really, Christi, if he were anywhere nearby he would be pounding down Meg's door, not sending her those ridiculous messages."

She gasped in surprise. "How do you know about his notes?"

Raoul touched her arm and kissed her cheek. "You told me, of course."

Christine shook her head. "No, Raoul, I did not…"

He held her accusing gaze a moment and then sighed. "All right, you might as well know, though I thought to spare you."

"Spare me what?"

"After the first one I wrote the rest," he admitted. "But it was only for Meg's benefit and because you asked me to help—"

"How could that help? Now she thinks he is pining away for her, desperate to see her?"

"She'll think he's weak, that's how!" Raoul said excitedly. "We both know his independence is what attracted her to him!"

Christine stared at him in disbelief. "All this time I've been saying that she is under his spell and needs our help—and you've been writing notes under his signature?"

"Telegrams, actually," Raoul admitted with a smile. "I could never copy his penmanship."

"How could you, Raoul? You didn't respect me enough to tell me, and now you've broken Meg's heart!"

"I didn't want to worry you, knowing how close you too are. She will be fine, once she has given up on him. His probation and the authorities can only help in keeping them apart, and eventually she will see that such a marriage can never work!"

"But she's his wife, Raoul, and she's changed a great deal; I'm not so sure your plan will work."

Raoul studied her distraught expression and touched her cheek. "Then we must help her to see that she has made a grave mistake in marrying him."

Christine turned away, hugging herself as she looked out the window. "I fear it's no use—she has become even more religious now, and tells me they share the same faith. Though we might be able to encourage her to separate, I doubt she will ever divorce him."

Raoul came to her side, joining her to gaze out the window. "There are other things which can be done," he said quietly, pausing to apparently collect his thoughts. "I must tell you something which you must keep strictly confidential, Christi—no one must know."

She turned to face him, her fears mounting. "All right, but what 'other things'?"

He met her accusing look with a crooked smile. "I thought I had effectively dissuaded him from thinking he can ever be part of our world—yet I never anticipated Meg thwarting the plan."

"What plan? Raoul, what have you done?"

"Keep your voice down!" he whispered, glancing toward the closed door.

"I knew you were hiding something from me," she whispered back, grasping his lapels. "What did you do to him?"

He frowned. "First of all I made sure that he understood the necessity of staying away from you in particular, and the city in general. I assumed that he would just vanish as he did the night of the fire."

"How did you ever hope to accomplish that, Raoul, and when?"

"We were in Brussels—you were completely exhausted and I didn't want to worry you—"

"Brussels? That was over two weeks ago!"

"When you pointed her out in the line I knew that he was right there at her side," he began to explain. "Frankly, I was amazed you didn't notice."

"I was too excited to see _her_!" Christine croaked. "Why would I ever even suspect her to be with _him_?"

"Be that as it may, when the opportunity presented itself I warned him to stay away from us. Just to be sure that he would I put him in a position where he was forced to—what I didn't anticipate was Meg still wanting anything to do with him after her encounter with you."

She nodded, still worried. "What did you do, to force him?"

"My men roughed him up a bit—it was necessary, Christi! You know how stubborn he is!"

"How could you?" she choked, shaking him. "He'll come after us and get back at us!"

He grabbed her shoulders. "I had to do something, but there is no need to fear! The police have him under control and we have our men to protect us."

"If the police were watching him, how did you manage to 'rough' him up? I doubt they would allow your interference, Raoul!"

"They could not watch him outside their jurisdiction—they've no idea what happened in Brussels."

"But _he_ does!" she moaned, closing her eyes and putting a hand to her brow. Suddenly a thought occurred to her and she opened her eyes. "You must have beaten him badly enough to prevent him from following her home! Oh Raoul, you've made a horrible mistake!"

"Do you remember how he beat me and put a noose around my neck?" he spat. "He would have killed me if it hadn't been for you! That is the kind of devotion we are dealing with, Christi!"

"Maybe you're right," she breathed, walking away from the window and hugging herself. "Well, he must not have recovered yet, or he would be here—"

"Perhaps he's finally learned his lesson," Raoul said, coming close and touching her shoulder. "He has kept my identity from the police."

Christine covered her face with her hands. "This is worse that I thought! What if he takes his own revenge, not to mention the fact that Meg will never forgive us!"

He turned her to face him, pulling her hands into his. "Everything will work out fine, if we take care of this together."

She shook loose from his grip. "I won't have any part in it! You've no idea what you're doing!"

"Think of Meg's future if we don't, Christi! She'll have to live as an outcast, like he does, probably even underground!"

"I know!" she gasped, close to tears. "I wish to help her but if he comes back he'll kill us both!"

"He won't," Raoul soothed, "not if he's changed; he hasn't levied charges against me or my men…we must help them both see the wisdom in ending this sham of a marriage, as soon as possible."

"How could we do that? We're not even involved—"

"Ah, but we are—don't forget the messages I've already sent."

Christine looked at him suspiciously. "Saying what?"

"That he has found his new wife much more childish than he imagined, the second stating that he demand she meet him at the police station—neither of which she has responded to. Now is where you come in, Christi, for it is time Meg answered him, or he will surely come for her."

"I don't know how, and that would be lying!"

Raoul looked at her meaningfully. "I was about to do it myself, but you would be much more convincing because you know them both better than anyone else…really, darling, it is for their own good…you know that in your heart."

She nodded hesitantly, unsure if they were doing the right thing. But what else was there to do? "I love Meg…what should I do?"

He smiled and gently led her toward his desk, pulling out the chair for her. "First of all, you're going to take a deep breath, then you're going to sit down a write the phantom a note from his wife...we'll go to the telegraph office as soon as you've finished. And after that, we'll have a nice lunch at that new little place you fancy." 

_**Erik lay on his back**_ in her bed, one arm flung over his eyes. His stomach ached from what he hoped was the last of the gut wrenching sobs he'd wrung from deep within his soul.

"Grief is a cruel master," he groaned, reliving the torment he had suffered since that night in Brussels. Memories of the past and desperate hopes for the future had waged their war within him day and night, driving him along a senseless course that eventually had led him here. Exhausted and emotionally drained, he felt strangely relieved, as if at peace. But he knew it was time to face the present.

Slowly lifting his arm away, he opened his eyes and stared at the dancing patterns of candle light thrown upon the ceiling by the two small candles he'd lit. With a cynical snort he scolded himself for letting them cheer him. Shifting his attention around the little bedroom, he compared its hushed quiet to the howl of the storm beyond the small window. The gale had accompanied him like a faithful friend ever since he disembarked the train in the village below. Beating back against his slow hike up to the ridge, it had mocked his memories when he found the cabin locked and empty. It had driven him to the edge of the cliff, flung debris at him and shouted its fury just for his benefit. Now, nestling his head back into her soft pillow, he smiled at the small triumph of surviving it. He had shelter, a place to be alone and get some much needed rest. Nudging the blankets halfway down his bare chest, he was thankful that the last of his chills had departed and he was finally warm and comfortable. At least in body.

His eyes traveled to the hooks lined up along the back wall, narrowing to focus on his wet shirt and trousers stretched out to dry. Having finally stopped dripping, they were well on their way toward a slow transformation back to dry clothing. His underwear and hose dried upon the caned chair, reaching down toward his overturned boots and the small puddle of rainwater lying upon the floorboards.

"There will be no leaving until you dry," he sighed, moving his gaze to the white painted wardrobe standing in the corner. "Surely nothing there to borrow…"

Closing his eyes, he ignored the soft familiar scent rising to his nostrils from her linens. Listening to the gusts of wind beating the roof, he deepened and slowed his breathing, willingly giving himself up to the heavy pull of sleep. 

_**Meg refolded the telegram**_ with trembling fingers, angrily shoving it back into her pocket. She straightened her shoulders and took the final step, forcing herself to enter his quarters. Papers and clothes were strewn everywhere, all the drawers hung halfway open, and a candelabra lay overturned next to the organ. Her stomach fluttered nervously at the memories of that night the mob had swept her along, and how frightened she had been in going after him. This was how the people had vented their rage against him, and it still shook her to the core, even though she had come here twice before since her train ride home alone.

It was cathartic, she knew, cleaning and putting disorder to right. Bending to snatch up two pillows and several articles of clothing, she frowned at the pile of sooty bed linens and towels where it lay upon the floor. Emptying her arms of the less damaged articles, she marched toward the organ and began gathering the stubs of candles scattered around it, shoving them into the tin box by the pedals. Straightening up, she planted her hands upon her hips with a cleansing breath.

_Leger's men must have enjoyed searching the place,_ she thought cynically, comforted only by the image of her mother scolding them and gathering her own plunder to save for Erik's use. It was only yesterday that she had accompanied her and scolded the coolly determined inspector for trying to ruin a marriage. But Meg would not dwell on that subject, and with a resigned sigh she bent to pick up the hundreds of papers strewn everywhere with obviously flagrant disregard. Pages of printed sheet music had been trampled underfoot, some torn and ruined. Even the water's edge was littered with sheet music, articles of clothing and books, all of which must be sorted and dealt with. But work was what she needed, at least until rehearsal time.

By the time she had finished half the work she stood panting by the organ, tapping the salvageable pages of music into a manageable stack. This she set upon the top of the organ, running her eyes run over the dusty keys and up to the printed music standing ready for playing. Snatching them up page by page, she gathered these into another stack, halting when she saw Erik's distinctive handwriting. Setting aside the printed compositions she slowly lifted the sheet of carefully written notes and chords, holding it up to the light as she stared at the title where her name was written in beautifully scripted calligraphy. Her heart thumped with emotion as she studied it in disbelief, eventually lowering herself to the bench.

"Meg's Song…" she whispered, her eyes moving over the notes and returning to the title and date. "March 29…" Touching the writing with her fingertip, she traced the title. "No year," she choked as her eyes filled with tears. "He didn't fix the year."

Shutting her eyes, she journeyed unwillingly to that fateful night when she had been attacked. As she did her mind was pricked by a thought and here, in Erik's home, she began to remember it differently. She could see herself with him, for he had carried her here, tended her wounds and spoken only words of comfort before carrying her back up to her world and to her mother. She could see as if for the first time the pain in his eyes, the understanding and the tenderness.

Opening her eyes, she sensed his presence so strongly that she turned her head, half expecting to see him standing there at the entrance to the tunnel through which he had followed him. But she was alone, left by her own design to come to terms with the man she had married, as well as her treatment of him. Suddenly overwhelmed with guilt and longing, she remembered that not only had he saved her life that fateful night, but he had let her know that she was valued, even cherished. He had handled her tenderly and risked revealing himself to bring her here to his lair, even that long ago.

"Why didn't I remember?" she asked the silence.

Her own whispers echoed back to her across the gentle lapping of the water. Directing her attention back to the music she held, she was once again astounded by the fact that he had written a song for her, even long before his romantic involvement with Christine. Reaching forward to gently place it upon the music stand, she touched the top keyboard and followed the notes, eager to discover what the music sounded like. Frustrated at not being able to match the written notes with the keys, she sat back, gripping the edge of the bench.

"Why didn't I continue my lessons, as Maman wished?" she chided herself, touching her toes to the foot pedals and attempting to follow the base chords. But the music was difficult, written in a complicated minor key. After several attempts she gave that up and stared at his writing again, finally bowing her head in regret.

_"Oh Erik…"_

What else was there about him she did not know? Christine had only shared the bad, but there was so much more to him than either of them knew. Not wanting to or understanding why, she longed for him so intensely it was a physical pain, centered in her chest. Memories of his voice and his touch haunted her, and ever since leaving Brussels had robbed her of sleep. If she managed to work herself to exhaustion sleep might come, but with it came dreams filled with his presence. And in her dreams he was in danger and she pursued him, or she was there in his arms again as he made her one with himself. 

Abruptly shoving away that particular memory, she snatched up the song and swiveled away from the pedals and off the bench. Hurrying to the bed she opened her valise and tucked the song inside. Sorting through what she had placed atop the smudged quilt, she packed what she had chosen of his things and snapped the latch on the bag. With a sigh of accomplishment she looked around in a similar manner in which she had evaluated her own room and pondered the journey back up.

It had been difficult to find another way here, sneaking past the main sections of tunnels where some were boarded off and others were being worked to serve some undetermined purpose for the homeless of the city. Leger had informed her that once the work was completed he would order Erik's return from traveling abroad to oversee their management. Other than this he had shared nothing more concerning her husband but warned her not to interfere or she would put both Erik and herself in danger. Despite her pleading and tears he would not tell her where Erik was, what he was doing, or when she might see him again. It was clear, she huffed now, that she was expected to keep her nose out of their business, keep quiet and wait until the probationary period was completed. Which she had no intention of doing.

Dragging the valise to the foot of Erik's bed she paused, suddenly overwhelmed with dizziness. Reaching out a hand to test the mattress, she found it firm and without analyzing her motive she lifted the quilt and slid beneath it. Placing a hand to her head she rested it upon the pillow and took a deep breath.

_I've been working too hard…a nap won't hurt, _she thought, gazing up at the ceiling and stifling a yawn. A little shiver traveled down her neck and she thought of slipping off her dress. It was soiled and the hem was wet, but she was too tired to move. Shrugging down into the bed, she was surprised at how comfortable it was, and forced herself to lie still and enjoy it. But as she lay there she kept seeing the elegant sweep of his handwriting where he had executed her name across the top of his composition.

"Meg's Song" she said softly, her mind still racing even as her limbs relaxed. Apparently Erik had used her nickname without her knowledge. The thought gave her an unexpected thrill of secret pleasure as she pictured him writing it. She glanced toward his organ and tried to envision him sitting there composing a song just for her. Wearing the white ruffled shirt that gaped open to mid chest. Quelling that thought, she remembered the telegrams he'd sent, rude and abrupt in tone, addressing her by her formal name. Doubt skipped along the edges of her mind as she tried to reconcile the two conflicting sides of his personality. She remembered the days of his recovery at the parish, the soft compelling way he had spoken to her and her doubts intensified. How could he have changed so much in so little time?

"'My clever little accomplice'…he'd first called her the night they rode away from here on Prince. Later, it was 'Mademoiselle,' then 'Meg'… She tried to remember him using her full name, but it was only in connection with their wedding vows or upon a rare instance. She reached out her hand and pulled the other pillow to her chest, closing her eyes when the hint of his shaving cream rose to her nostril. How unlike him to use Marguerite…

She closed her eyes at the stab of grief she felt. "It's not fair, Lord," she whispered, "we were so happy, and I thought he loved me, but then I saw Christine…" 

Opening her eyes abruptly, she glanced toward the place where the canal emptied into a small lagoon, just beyond his quarters. This was where the final confrontation had taken place, she realized, unable to picture it in her mind. But Christine had been here, and not long ago had shared with her the thrill she had felt experiencing his embrace and touch. It was here, Meg thought with tears spilling down her cheeks, that Christine had kissed him in front of Raoul. Once again Christine's face appeared before her and she heard her voice emphasizing that their kisses had been real, passionate, and had rocked her to the core.

Groaning in pain, Meg turned onto her side and gripped the pillow tighter. "That was the past," she reminded herself. _But how can I forget what happened between them, especially when Erik had never mentioned it?  
_  
She lay that way a long time, feeling the weight of her loneliness despite the gentle lap of the water soothing her. There was no other sound in the cavernous world where she found herself. Then she thought she heard it again.

_Trust me…_

The words filtered into her mind, sounding strangely like Erik's voice, yet somehow different. "I do trust you," she whispered, "but how can I trust him, when he has so many secrets?"

_Trust me…_

Taking a deep breath, she pulled the bed linens to her ears and settled deeper into the bed, listening to the sound of the water. Relaxing more completely, she closed her eyes and was impressed with another thought.

_Beware of those who say they are friends…_

She saw Christine's face again as she had looked in Brussels, but now with sudden clarity. Christine had become a wedge to divide all her relationships, starting with Erik and now even influencing even her mother and Ben. Her brother had arrived in Paris the day after she had, shocking her with his news that he had attended the medical convention as a last minute decision. Somehow they had missed each other in the crowds filling the city. She had explained everything to him about Christine and Erik, and to her surprise he'd told her that he never liked Christine and chose to avoid her, something Meg had never realized. By now he would be finishing his training in Switzerland and no doubt on his way back to the parish...

_The parish—_how she missed her life there, but now she could not think about it without thinking of Erik. It was there that she had gotten to know him, and there they had grown so close. Sighing deeply and too tired to fight the memory of him, she drifted to sleep with only the good memories surrounding her. 

_**Ben stood in the breakfast line,**_ gloomily considering what he should do with the discovery he had made on his way here only a few hours earlier. Bone weary and smoothing a hand over his growling stomach, he resigned himself to a long wait before he reached the food.

Scanning the crowded dining hall, he caught sight of the one person he most looked forward to seeing. Smiling dazedly, he saw her carrying a tray from the buffet, headed in his direction. Straightening to attention, he feasted his eyes upon her with a hunger that surprised him. He'd missed her, he excused himself as she drew near, saw him and smiled brightly. _At him!_

A jolt of excitement rooted him to the spot and as she came closer he was suddenly speechless. The moment was lost as she passed him with a shy smile and backward glance. Frowning at what he knew was a dumbfounded expression, he chastised himself for being nervous even as he knew she was gone. A hand pressed his shoulder, lifting the fog from his brain as the man behind him leaned close and nodded for him to move forward in line.

"Sorry," he mumbled, feeling himself redden with embarrassment. _How can I act so stupid around her?_

He was only a few paces from the food spread out before them when he shrugged off his behavior with Sarita and shifted his thoughts back to the current predicament he faced. As soon as he got some food into his stomach he would be sure to investigate the grounds, confident that his suspicions concerning Erik's presence would be confirmed. Remembering the anguish and pain in his sister's expression and the tight lipped grief in his mother's, he vowed to find the one responsible. His bag and widely scattered belongings marked the path home, putting his horse at risk when the stallion had stopped abruptly before stepping onto a sharp object. He had been forced to dismount and check Dane's hoof, which thankfully had not been cut, for shattered beneath it was a shaving mug that was all too familiar. His quick scan of the surrounding brush had produced a man's toilette bag, shaving cream and other grooming items, as well as the precious book his sister had made for her new husband. All these he had locked in his own room after reading only the first three soggy pages. It had not taken that long, however, to discover just how deeply she loved the man who had casually discarded her handiwork, as well as her. His plan was to threaten, vent his anger and disapproval and then return them to their rightful owner, as soon as he found him.

_He was in the barn last night,_ Ben knew, remembering the hasty retreat of a shadowy figure when he'd ridden in to see to his horse. _Must have scared him away,_ he thought with a smile, but surely not too far away. For there was only one reason why Erik would come here—Pieter. He wouldn't stay long, for Erik was once again a man on the run. Only this time it wasn't just from a dangerous job but an angry wife and family as well. Clenching his fists at his sides, Ben moved forward in line toward his first hot meal in days. 

_**Erik woke suddenly**_, listening intently to the muffled rattle of china just beyond the outer door. Tensing and focusing all his attention on the soft tap of footsteps echoing down the hall, he waited until he heard silence before expelling his breath. Slowly sitting up, he gazed around her room with pursed lips. He reminded himself that he was not here to enjoy the peaceful progression of days he had once cherished. Things had changed drastically since his last visit, the most marked change being the desertion of his wife. She'd left him as surely as the one lined telegram she had sent him which now lay locked in a safe box at his bank in Brussels, alongside the stacks of new currency waiting for his use.

There was another telegram before that one, he recalled, the one delivered to Jean while he recovered in his hospital bed. He could see Jean's face as he read it to him, placed it on his bedside table and left him alone refusing to admit its message into his mind. Rosalie had sent him word that Meg was upset about something Christine had said to her, and about a wedding ring. Upon his discharge another one had been delivered, this one from his own wife. The one that had cut deeply into his heart and forced him to accept the news:

_"It is over…Marguerite."_

Shoving the bedcovers aside, he gazed accusingly at the feminine décor surrounding him. "Not even the decency to write a personal note," he whispered, slowly getting to his feet. He had no idea what Christine had done or said, but the fact that she would even mention the ring he'd offered her years ago was ridiculous. Surely she had discarded it along with his proposal…or so he had thought.

"We'll see about that, dear wife," he whispered, determining to make her honor her vows nevertheless. They had shared something in their brief time together that would never be over, at least not for him. The friendship and loved between them lived on in his mind, replaying over and over again with each passing hour. How could it be over? How could she throw away what they both knew had the potential to be a great love? More importantly, how had she exchanged it for Christine's fear and weakness? He tried to entertain the possibility that somehow Christine had distorted their relationship, but surely Meg would never throw away something so precious...unless she had somehow changed. Running his hands through his hair, he choked back a cynical laugh.

"Maybe she's lost her mind as well," he whispered, picturing the typeset of her name on the telegram: _Marguerite._ How formal, he had thought, calling herself by a different name neither of them used. To his knowledge, she had always preferred 'Meg,' as had he.

"Never Marguerite…" he breathed softly, treading barefoot as he approached her wardrobe. Use of that name bothered him more than he cared to admit, as if it were a testimony of cold civility. Or a change in personality. "Then again," he whispered, "do I really know her, having only been with her a few months?"

The fact that she had run away upset made sense to him, but staying away did not. Sending telegrams did not. As he gripped the wooden handles of her wardrobe, he opened the doors and feasted his eyes on her things. Reaching out to touch the shoulder of one of her blouses, he ra a fingertip along the row of delicate clothing, shuddering with emotion.

"What went wrong, my love?" he breathed, shaking his head as he lowered his gaze to the row of shoes standing at attention on the bottom shelf. "So small," he said distractedly, his eyes traveling over each pair and settling on one. He paused, remembering: then he bent down and slowly retrieved one white leather lace up boot. Holding it up for inspection, he could see himself removing it to massage her foot, just out in the next room. A sob of grief pried loose from his chest as he shoved it back and took a step away from the wardrobe. 

Rubbing his aching temples he somehow managed to compose himself and continue his search. Opening a drawer to his left he saw a small mound of lacy undergarments embellished with pink and green embroidery. Knowing this was a realm virtually foreign to him, he nevertheless touched the undergarments feeling like a guilty invader but moving on. When his fingertips brushed a hard surface he paused, questioning the wisdom of further exploration. Something was hidden here, but after a moment's hesitation he drew it out, excusing himself in his effort to understand her. It was a small book, handmade, like the one she had given him...the one he had thrown over the cliff.

Absently sliding the drawer back in place, he closed the wardrobe doors and sat on the edge of her bed staring at the unopened volume. Glancing up at his clothing, he saw that it was nearly dry. Absently scratching the scars along his naked thigh he shifted his attention back to her book. Was it a diary? Poems she once mentioned writing? His stomach growled, making him gaze across the parlor toward the front door. Someone had left him a tray, he concluded by the sounds heard earlier, even though his presence was in direct violation of their rules. Should he get it? Would he be discovered if he did? Weighing his course of action he decided that apparently no one was going to disturb him, and for that he was thankful. Despite his hunger he slid back onto the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard and pillow. Drawing up the blankets over his nakedness, he lifted the book and focused his attention upon it.

The marbled cover was designed like a water garden, reminding him of the pond beneath the willows just beyond this building. He remembered how he had felt sitting with there with her the day she had read her mother's note and agreed to marry him. Nervous with anticipation, he opened her book and began to read:

_"To Nathan…with love."_

He stopped. There before his eyes, written in her small, perfect writing, was the unexpected and unwelcome clue he had sought: she was in love with someone else. Stunned, he stared at the name, jealously flickering to life like a flame burning within him. But how was it possible? This meant she had been in love with someone else while she married him. Clenching his jaw, he forced himself to turn the page and start at the beginning. His eyes devoured each image and word, but what he saw startled him so profoundly that he nearly cried out in pain. He leafed through the book to the end and back, disbelief and shame washing over him with each turn of the page. For it was, to his astonishment, quite clearly a children's book, beautifully and lovingly designed for a child named Nathan. Tiny animals and leaves were painted along the border of each page, telling a love story to a child, not a man. Captivated, Erik read it through a second time, his heart melting as he climbed up from depression and anger toward hope. Could this be the clue he needed to understand why she wanted nothing more to do with him? Moistening his lips, he read it aloud in a hoarse whisper…

_This is a book I made for you Nathan, just for you. It is our story, though we have yet to meet in person. But I saw you in a vision, and I know that someday you will appear, my own little boy to love. Somehow, by God's grace, I have seen you ahead of time—I know you have your father's dark hair and beautiful, intelligent eyes, only yours are blue. I saw you when your father and I began to fall in love one night when we looked together through a telescope at the stars and planets. Not long after that I was given the plan for this book. Its purpose is to tell you and show you, even before you are born, how much you are loved. For if we can never say "I love you" to those we truly love, we rob them of the greatest happiness the world can know…_

Erik's eyes flooded with moisture as he laid the book over his bare stomach. He rested his head back against the pillows, attempting to face his failure and overcome his guilt for judging her.

"I never told you," he confessed to her, his voice choked with emotion. "I never said the words." 

_**Sarita finished packing**_ her medical bag and stepped to her door. Pulling it open, she stepped out into the corridor ready to report to the infirmary for a day's work. She was eager to see Ben again after his two trips, not counting this morning in the dining hall. Laughing to herself in delight, she remembered the hesitation in his expression, so uncharacteristic of the headstrong young man who had begun to win her heart. Thanking God that he had made it back safe and sound, though looking somewhat worn and tired, she rejoiced at his reaction, for it was just what she had hoped for.

Fastening her cloak she closed the door behind her, startled when another door opened down the hall. Gasping in surprise and freezing in place, she watched a very tall, very virile man lean halfway out of Meg's room and glance directly at her. His shirt was unbuttoned, parting to reveal a heavily muscled chest from which she dragged her eyes upward to meet his gaze. His expression twisted with regret and apology, for he was obviously aware of being caught trespassing. She stared at his handsome face in shock, gripped by fear. According to Arlene's instructions, this was not the man she had described. This stranger's face was compelling, different but not horrible, and dominated by beautiful, intelligent eyes. She saw his brows raise as his lips parted, then came to her senses and screamed. Turning and running in the opposite direction, she fled for the stairs to warn Arlene. 

_**Erik frowned**_ but bent quickly to lift the tray she had left for him. He was famished but knew his time was short. She was no doubt off to report him, so he locked himself in, placed the tray on the table and broke off a piece of muffin. Stuffing it into his mouth, he sat and quickly pulled on his hose and boots. Reaching for the mug he drained all its contents, relishing the strong coffee despite the fact that it had gone cold. It would help chase away his headache, and taking another bite of muffin he rose, picked up the tray and slid it back into the hall. Reaching for the little book, he stepped into the hall and shut the door behind him, taking the opposite staircase from the one the girl had chosen.

_**Arlene looked around**_ at the sound of her name being called, glancing up at Ben as Sarita ran toward them. Aware of their fondness for each other, she thought of explaining to Ben about their unexpected guest before Sarita reached them. Puzzled that the girl had apparently seen Erik's face and had not handled it as expected, she turned back to study her approach. As she came up she grabbed her shoulders and fought to catch her breath with only a sideways glance at Ben.

"What's wrong?" she asked, half knowing the answer.

"His face!" Sarita panted, "it's not him! It's someone else, a stranger!"

Arlene shot Ben a warning look, watching him straighten in defense, ready to take care of any intruders. But Sarita shook her again, forcing her to concentrate upon her report.

"What does he look like?" she asked hesitantly.

"Not at all like you described," Sarita panted. "This man would never need a mask!"

Ben seemed to relax and looked away, shaking his head. "He's here somewhere," he said under his breath."

"What happened?" Arlene encouraged.

"He just stood there and stared," Sarita explained, glancing over her shoulder and tensing. "Wait—here he comes!"

Arlene squinted toward the man walking down the path from the women's dormitory. His build and the way he carried himself seemed familiar as his purposeful stride was confident. When he came closer and stopped abruptly, she held his expectant look before he glanced furtively at Ben as if at a loss for words. Silence reigned for a few seconds. Then Sarita bolted from her place.

"I'll run get Pieter," she croaked, fleeing their midst.

Arlene studied him carefully, knowing that it was Erik, despite the vast improvement in his appearance. But something was clearly wrong; she could sense the grief and anger simmering beneath its surface. "Erik?" she whispered, raising a hand toward him.

Ben erupted into action, lunging into his side. "You have your nerve!" he shouted, knocking Erik off balance as he swung at him in an obvious rage.

"Benjamin, stop!" she shouted at him, watching Erik raise his arm to fend off another blow. When Ben swung again he sidestepped it but raised his arms as he stared at his attacker. "What's wrong with you?" he shouted, a look of surprise immediately following the blow that caught his jaw.

"You'll pay for breaking her heart!" Ben yelled.

Arlene saw the crowd gathering around them as he swung again, but Erik was too fast for him. Catching his arm he twisted it behind his back while Ben panted with rage, unable to free himself.

"You have your facts reversed," Erik corrected before shoving him away. He took a step backward, running a hand through his hair. "_Brother_."

Ben dashed up to jab a finger into his chest. "Don't call me that—not unless you plan to apologize to her and make amends!"

Erik stared at him in shock. "I would if I knew what was wrong and could get anywhere near her!" he informed him, rubbing his sore jaw.

"She doesn't want to see you!"

"—though I've done nothing to break her heart."

"That's not what she says!"

Erik held his belligerent stare. "I can imagine," he answered softly, gazing apologetically at Arlene.

Ben faltered, surprised at Erik's tone. "Why didn't you tell her about your relationship with Christine," he accused, apparently unaffected by the audience gathering around him. "Or the wedding ring you gave _her_?"

"It was completely irrelevant, on both counts," he answered.

"She doesn't think so!" Ben challenged before Erik lurched toward him, gripping his shoulders.

"I _love_ her, and am devoted to her," he said dangerously, "there is no one else, nor will there ever be!"

Ben studied him a moment, wilting beneath the obvious truth in Erik's face. Arlene came closer, stretching her hand toward his face while he flinched but held his ground. Touching his mended cheek, she smiled in thanksgiving. "Why Erik," she sighed happily, cupping his chin like a mother might, "you've been healed!"

He pursed his lips. "I had plastic surgery." 

"I have prayed for you these past weeks," she said, transferring her hand to his forearm. "But I can see the task is not complete."

"You should see Meg!" Ben interjected, planting his hands on his hips as he glared at Erik.

Arlene glanced at him a moment, then back to Erik. "Tell me what has happened."

"Pieter's coming," Ben warned, his eyes on the girl walking alongside him. "He should be interested in learning all about Erik and Christine Daae."

At her name Arlene's expression lit with recognition and she gripped Ben's arm. "Ben, I think there is something you don't know," she soothed. "Perhaps you should listen to his side of the story first."

"Erik," Pieter called, quickening his pace until he came to Arlene's side. He looked at the right side of Erik's face and reached out a hand, placing it on his shoulder. "What are you doing here alone? I thought you and Meg…"

Erik knit his brows together as he looked into Pieter's eyes, nodding once in silent greeting. He swallowed and found his voice. "She's left me," he croaked. "And I need your help to get her back." 

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt  
_


	43. Chapter 43 A New Occupation

_**Chapter 43 A New Occupation**_

Drawing near the end of the tunnel, Meg slowed her steps, staring in wonder at the outside world. Late afternoon sun fired the changing leaves to bright reds and oranges, gilding the trees and buildings with an ethereal light. The sky was a deep cloudless blue, and everything looked still, surreal. She looked back over her shoulder at the way she had come, the sharp contrast between the two worlds making her feel like a stranger, even though she had only been below ground less than 24 hours. She marveled at Erik's strength in having lived apart for so many years, her respect for him doubling. And even as she shifted his heavy valise and started again toward the exit, the power of his presence filled and surrounded her. Somehow, she felt as if he was near, watching her. Shaking her head as if to dispel the feeling, she walked out into the alley way and stopped.

The distant noises of the city began to filter into her thoughts, the newer sounds of automobiles with their horns tooting, cries of children playing in the streets and vendors selling their wares. Still groggy despite the fact that she had slept through the night for the first time in days, she remembered her upcoming appointments without enthusiasm. Registration for ballet classes would begin at 5 p.m. and rehearsal for Don Juan at 7, stretching her duties well into the night, after which she would collapse upon her bed and pray for sleep. Since the touring company's return rehearsals for Don Juan had required four nights of each week, and she wondered how Erik would feel about her dancing in it. Everything was proceeding along with efficient speed toward the full premiere, and though she dreaded opening night she could not help but hope if would draw him to attend.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled her eyes from the colors of the leaves overhead and lowered them along the tree trunks, gasping in surprise at her discovery. Spread out among the roots of the trees were articles of clothing, wreaths, candles and mail. Setting the valise down, she approached the sight for a closer look, seeing the flowers, toys and envelopes addressed to the Phantom of the Opera. Staring in disbelief, she even saw perfume bottles with letters attached, lacy handkerchiefs and women's unmentionables, all apparently left for him. She bent and gathered up a small stack of notes, turning them over to read the sentiments.

"To my beloved phantom," she whispered, reading the address on one before continuing to another. "You live on in our hearts, Opera Ghost." Another had barely discernible writing, but appeared to state: "Marry me!" Unable to help herself, she lifted it to her nose and sniffed. It smelled of spicy perfume, and she held it away in sudden disgust. 

"It's a shrine," a voice said, startled her. She whirled around to find her mother standing there, arms folded. "They worship him, you know, so they wait for him to return."

Suddenly feeling nauseated, Meg glanced back down at the array of objects, knowing that it was true. "I had no idea…"

Louise came closer to take note of what appeared to be new additions to the pile. "In the evening they come and check their things, hoping he has removed theirs for consideration," she said blandly. "The stable master keeps us informed, and of course the managers are thrilled," she sighed, waiting for her attention. "I wanted to thank you for leaving me a note telling me where you were; I wouldn't want to lose track of _both_ of you."

"Please don't start again," Meg sighed, bending to replace the notes as her mother lifted her valise, obviously surprised at its weight.

"I see you've salvaged whatever Leger left behind."

"He left a horrible mess—what everyone else would consider vandalism."

Louise tilted her head to study her. "I'm surprised you stayed down there so long, surrounded by his things."

"He is my husband," she retorted, ignoring her mother's raised brows. "I miss him a great deal—you know that."

"Yes, but does _he_ know it?" she said before a sudden look of guilt tightened her features. "I'm sorry, I'll stop. After all, you already know how I feel about the subject."

"Yes, Maman, I know," she admitted, glancing again toward the gifts left to pay him homage. "I had no idea he had so many dedicated followers, even after all this time."

"Or so many marriage proposals—"

"Madame Destler!" a man called, attracting their attention. Meg saw that he was dressed like a homeless person, yet his build was stocky and his face radiating health as it split with a smile. He stopped before them, gazing at Meg as if ready for inspection. "Remember me?"

Meg studied him with the impression that he was vaguely familiar. "Pardon, Monsieur…I'm not—"

"You don't, do you?" he laughed good naturedly, glancing at Louise.

"I'm sorry," she admitted with a grimace. "You do seem familiar…"

"It's Aaron—from the parish? Father of the family who comes out at night to dance?"

Recognition dawned as her spirit lifted. "Of course!" she gushed, shaking his outstretched hand. "Aaron, this is my mother, Louise Giry…it is good to see you again."

He bowed to her mother. "Enchante, Mme. Giry: you have a wonderful daughter and son-in-law in Mon. Erik. He invited us to their wedding, though I regret that you were not able to attend."

Meg watched in disbelief as her mother colored a bit. "As do I, but it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance...you know Erik well?"

"Very well," he nodded. "He led us here, to the opera house—"

Meg blanched as she stared at him. "Erik is _here?_"

"Oh no, pardon—weeks ago, and by letter," he explained, "after he met with the police. I trust he is well?"

Embarrassed, glanced away as her mother answered for her. "We hope that you could tell us, Monsieur, since you are working with him."

Meg shot an accusing look at her mother. "How do you know that, Maman?"

Louise shrugged. "It was clearly stated in the letter from the Inspector," she said casually.

Meg reddened as she remembered her own refusal to read anything about Erik's work. She was aware of the tension in Aaron as he glanced from mother to daughter and cleared his throat. "It is true, Mme. Destler—"

"Please," Meg interrupted, "call me Meg…Mme. Destler sounds so formal."

Her mother huffed just loud enough for her to hear as Aaron crossed his arms. "Mme. Meg, then," he insisted, nodding toward the tunnel entrance. "I must be going down, but yes, my wife Esther and I are Erik's administrators. He has hired movers to begin bringing in the furniture tonight in order to maintain as much secrecy a possible. And my wife is planning to register the children in your night class."

"Really?" she answered, cheered by the news. "So you have relocated your family here?"

"Yes, but we are staying elsewhere until everything is moved in. The children are looking forward to classes, and are very excited at the idea of living right beneath your school."

It had been Erik's idea to make the children her students, and now it appeared his wish was coming true. Her heart softened considerably as she remembered the night he had introduced them. 

"Erik has always had a keen eye for talents and gifts," Louise sighed, her eyes on Meg.

"And we can see how much your daughter loves her husband," Aaron stated. "He is a very lucky man to have such a talented and loving wife, and I plan to tell him that when he arrives."

"So Erik is coming here?" Louise said with a considerably brighter tone. "We have not been allowed to see him because of his work," she said a bit unconvincingly to Meg's hearing.

"Then I am sure he is eager to return to you both," he answered, looking toward the horizon at the lowering sun. "Now if you will excuse me, I must go take a look at the work that's been done—"

"Of course," Louise offered, taking his arm and walking with him into the tunnel. Meg could hear their muted conversation but closed her eyes in an effort to control her emotions. Erik was returning, and she would no doubt have to face him. The prospect both thrilled and terrified her, for she had no idea what to expect when he did. 

_**Dismounting wearily**_ from Prince, Erik patted his side and glanced up at the setting sun. He was glad to have finally reached Paris but knew he didn't have much time. Leading Prince into the stables, he handed him over to the boy in attendance and made arrangements for the best care possible for his stay. Paying in advance, he rubbed Prince's neck and asked directions to the street he sought. Standing to watch the boy finally lead Prince away for a good rubbing down, dinner and a well deserved rest, he stretched his sore back and turned to find the place of his appointment. The key was deep in his pants pocket, folded within Leger's note. Enjoying the chance to stretch his legs, he turned and started toward the street, unfamiliar with this section of the city and hoping the boy had directed him properly despite the generous tip he'd given him.

It had been a hard ride after a very long and difficult day, and he longed for a meal, a bath and the sweet oblivion of sleep. Ben had accused him, gotten into a fight with him, yet Pieter had heard him out and Arlene had dabbed the corners of her eyes a few times before he had finished relating his story. He'd given them the barest details of his experience, wondering if they really believed him. At least he had his face as evidence, he thought wryly, rubbing his stubbled cheek. Arlene and Pieter had offered him their support, and Ben finally had finally shaken his hand before being called to the infirmary for an urgent case. He had been forbidden to leave until Arlene handed him a bag of food and supplies for his journey, hugging him fiercely as she and Pieter watched him make his way to the stables to be reunited with Prince.

Now, with all that behind him, Erik walked along the secondary street with the distinct feeling he was being watched. His eyes searched the darkening windows of small shops and well maintained townhouses as he passed silently down the walk, but he saw no one. Even stranger, he seemed to be the only person out, which added to the unsettling feeling creeping over him. Turning onto a narrow cobblestoned street he pulled out Leger's note, matched the number with the building just ahead and slowly walked up the steps. He knocked three times, waited and pulled his cloak tighter as the air chilled rapidly. Nothing happened. He stood back, looked up at the strange star shaped window, then turned and retraced his steps. After walking the entire block again, he shrugged and remounted the stairs, knocking and finding no answer. Heaving a mighty sigh, he leaned close to the door and listened. By now it was too dark to attract anyone's attention. Shaking his head, he knocked again and waited. Listening closely, he thought that he heard singing or chanting. Glancing to either side as he withdrew his pocket knife, he jarred the lock and slowly opened the door and let himself in. A cloud of warmth which smelled like candles burning enveloped him as he stood in the tiled foyer, trying to understand what he was doing here.

He sniffed at the faint but heavenly aroma of baking bread, concentrating on the singing which alternated with chanting in a language he could not discern. Pulling off his gloves, he walked slowly toward the sound, peering into the dimly lit interior of the building. Turning a corner he was brought before a wide entry marked by double doors which were closed. They were intricately carved with designs difficult to distinguish in the darkness, and he laid his hand upon one, waiting and listening. The singing stopped but the voices continued, softly echoing into the hall in which he stood. He finally pocketed the key and returned to the foyer to wait, wondering why his contact was late in appearing. Eventually he returned to the double doors and stood listening, then with a sigh and a muttered prayer he slowly opened one door and slipped in.

Quickly sliding onto the polished wooden bench, he scanned his surroundings and picked up a book from the little rack set before him, opened it and leaned over it as those present seemed to be doing. Though the candlelight lit the room he could not discern much from the strangely printed letters on one side of the page. He listened to the strange language of the leader and the responses from the others, standing when they stood and sitting when they lowered themselves back to their seats. As the minutes ticked by he felt more and more apprehensive.

Did Leger intend this, or was it some kind of a twisted joke? he wondered, not amused by anyone mocking someone's religion. He glanced furtively around, but no one paid him any attention. In fact it seemed that no one took note of his arrival, so intense was their concentration. He, on the other hand was distracted, exhausted and hungry, but forced himself to be patient and to wait for this Daniel, whoever he may be.

It was a small sanctuary, lit by one large candelabrum which stood upon a raised platform at the far end of the room. A man stood in front of a podium, the shawl he wore covering his face as he led what was apparently a service of some kind. Hoping it was not a funeral, Erik searched for a coffin but saw nothing. As he listened to the words continue on and on he was astonished when suddenly a quiet melody emerged from an unseen organ, its tone rich and indicative of an instrument of highest quality. The rows of shawl covered congregants stayed bent forward in prayer, singing along and continuing with the leader and the book. Finally giving up at trying to see and understand it, Erik rested it upon his thigh and closed his eyes. When he did he began to feel calmer, strangely at peace…

He started when something flopped over his head, draping his forehead and shoulder. It was a large cloth of a light color, with black horizontal stripes and fringes. A hand clamped down upon his shoulder as Erik turned and pushed the material back to see the man sliding onto the bench next to him. Dark eyes above a heavy black beard held his before a finger rose to his moustache. The man's hand reached for a book and he opened it, already joining the others in chanting. After a pause he tugged Erik's book from his hands and turned it the opposite way he had held it before handing it back.

"Follow me," he whispered between sentences.

"Who are you?" Erik whispered back, standing abruptly as everyone else did. The man was nearly as tall as he was, but very thin and wiry in build. 

"Daniel, of course," he whispered back, pushing the shawl aside to wink. "Sorry I'm late Giles…?"

Unaccustomed to using his fake name and wondering why they couldn't speak in private he nodded. "Arnon," he answered in a whisper, turning a page as Daniel did.

The strange man leaned closer. "I didn't think it was your real name," he said with a grin. "Good shabbos, by the way."

"What?" Erik whispered, sitting back down with him.

"Good sabbath—Friday night, which you should know since it's the day of our appointment."

"The sabbath…" Erik repeated knowingly, leaning close. "And by the way, Daniel, I am not an idiot."

"I didn't say you were."

"You implied it."

"A thousand pardons—"

"Could we go somewhere and speak?" Erik huffed impatiently.

Several heads turned in their direction. "Shhh," was the chorus directed toward them before the others turned back to face the leader.

"After the service—"

Erik glanced toward the young man leading the service and sighed. "And when will that be?"

"Patience, my friend…ten minutes." 

At one point Erik sensed by the slight agitation around then and the quickened pace of recitations that things were drawing to a close, then Daniel slid to the end of the bench and got up to leave. Following after him, he watched Daniel lead the way down a corridor, turn into another hallway and climb two flights of stairs before he paused outside a door at the top of the stairs. As Erik ascended to the landing Daniel drew his shawl off and began to fold it. Copying him, Erik was interrupted by the man's hand shooting before him. 

"Give me your key," he ordered, and when it was handed over he used it to unlock the door. Pushing it open he stood aside, nodding toward the room. "This will be your apartment—watch your head."

Erik paused, noting the humor in his expression and smiling wanly himself. "After you," he insisted, gesturing with his arm.

Daniel laughed softly. "Don't trust anyone, do you? No wonder Leger chose you."

Erik followed him in, ducking his head as he stepped inside the surprisingly expansive room. Thankfully the ceiling opened much higher than in the hallway, and as he finished folding his shawl he watched Daniel light the lantern and step to the window. It stood upon a desk situated just to the side of one large window, beyond which he could see the tiny yellow lights of the city off in the distance. 

Daniel glanced at him over one shoulder. "Have you eaten dinner?"

"No," Erik answered, slowly walking toward the desk.

"I'll have something brought up to you."

Erik stopped and stared out at the beautiful view. "I would like a bath, after riding most of the day," he stated, extending the folded shawl to Daniel, who shook his head. 

"You'll need that."

Erik turned toward him with a sarcastic smile. "As a disguise?"

"Partly, yes—I'll show you the lavatory before I go down and order your meal. There are linens in the cupboard and several changes of clothing in what should be your size. Anything else?"

Erik put a hand to the back of his neck as he studied him. "I'd like to know what I'm doing here, in a synagogue."

"This is where the authorities have decided you should stay until your probation ends," he answered, his gaze traveling over the right side of Erik's face. "I was told you had to have surgery for this job; are you fully recovered, then?"

Erik turned to gaze out the window. "As long as I don't swim underwater for the next few months."

"That might be a problem."

Erik turned to face him. "Are you going to answer my question?"

Daniel stared at him a moment, stroking his beard. "The other part of your disguise is living here and serving as our caretaker of sorts. We need to employ someone who is not Jewish to open and lock up the building each day, when you're not traveling. You may have light janitorial duty from time to time, with the help of Charles, of course. In return you have a nice quiet place to live between trips and the company of a very tight knit community, once the people get to know you and trust you. And they are looking forward to meeting you."

"The pleasure is mine, I'm sure," Erik drawled, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. He glanced down into the alley below. "What about the railroad?" he said quietly.

"You follow me and learn the routes before we split up," he heard Daniel explain. "All our instructions come anonymously to me. No one else is to know or discuss the work, including family, but I trust Leger has already warned you so."

Assaulted by a vision of Meg's face looking up at him, Erik could not answer. He stared toward the direction of the Opera House, feeling as if he were more than just a few kilometers away. "Do you have a family, Daniel?"

There was a momentary pause, and he came to join him at the window. "Not yet, do you?"

"A wife."

Daniel sighed deeply. "I'm sorry, Giles."

"My name is Erik."

"Don't tell me your name."

Erik turned to glare at him, angrier with himself than anyone else. "My probation cannot come soon enough, and in the interim I will find a way to see my wife, with or without anyone's permission."

Daniel, looking somewhat taken aback, nodded once. "I see—I had no idea, about your wife."

"If I am to risk my life on a daily basis I insist upon some semblance of a family life—"

"It may put her in danger, Giles."

"I will not do so unless I am sure of her safety," Erik stated, expelling a sigh of frustration. "Forgive me—I mean no offense."

"None taken."

Erik nodded. "In the event that her safety is compromised, I would like your permission to bring her here, maintaining complete secrecy, of course."

Daniel turned to pace back and forth a few times before he stopped to face him. "All right, but no one else may learn of it."

"Agreed."

"I'll show you the hidden entrances in the lower cellar, but not until tomorrow night, after dinner."

"All right: I'll be here."

"If you must bring her here, do so as we would the others."

"I must insist on the privacy of this room," Erik stated.

"Of course," Daniel agreed, planting his hands upon his hips. "Well I'm relieved now that that matter is handled…by the way, excellent idea suggesting we copy the American model."

Erik nodded, turning to gaze out the window once again. "I appreciate your allowance, _Daniel,_" he emphasized, glancing back at the man.

He was rewarded with a smile that was half grimace. "Someday we'll tell each other our real names—our first foray is Monday night at 11:00. I will meet you at the entrance I'll show you tomorrow night. If I don't appear, carry on in your janitorial role until you hear from Leger or one of his tribe." 

"Will you be late, like tonight?"

Daniel shrugged. "It's possible, and thank you for waiting. The rule is we wait only one hour for each other, that's all."

"And should we be discovered or captured…?"

"If that happens we say we are smuggling black market goods from Russia, not Jews," he was told. "I'll show you the fake depot and goods if it comes to that."

Erik turned his gaze back to the night sky. "How many people at a time?"

"A half dozen at the most, any more will attract attention. We meet at different locations each time, but everyone is shepherded into your tunnel upon arrival. Aaron and Esther handle it from there, unless we have a problem in which case you divert here…how are Pieter and Arlene, by the way?"

Erik glanced cautiously at his profile "Very well...I'm surprised you knew."

"I know everything," Daniel sighed, turning to study his face. "Well, you look worn out—Charles will be bringing up your dinner shortly. Just leave the tray in the hall when you're finished," he advised, going toward the door. "Tomorrow you can sleep all day if you like with no obligations to fulfill," he said, opening it. "After all, resting is a commandment, especially in this house."

"I do plan to go out later," Erik told him quietly.

"If you do watch yourself, especially in this neighborhood. We've had two attacks in the past month, both on the elderly."

Erik nodded. "Thank you, for your hospitality."

Daniel stepped out into the hall, eyeing him critically. "It is we who should be thanking you…see you at dinner tomorrow, 8 o'clock."

Erik watched him start down the stairs and closed his door, smoothing a hand over the polished wood before locking it. Walking back to the window, he stood staring out over the city and thinking of all Daniel had told him. He was eager to inspect the passageway beneath the building through which he hoped to bring Meg, if all went according to plan.

"It seems the phantom has resorted to his old ways," he sighed, gazing toward the direction of the Opera House. "So, my dear wife…until tomorrow." 

_**Staring at her face**_ in the mirror, Meg knew she had to do something drastic. Her eyes and nose were red from crying and there were dark circles under her eyes. With a tired sigh she dipped a fingertip into the facial cream her mother had handed her without saying a word. Trying not to resent her interference, she dabbed it beneath each eye and slowly blended it in. As she worked she glanced at her reflected features, trying to evaluate them as objectively as possible, beginning with her eyes.

"Too far apart," she whispered, pausing to concentrate upon their color. "Brown and ordinary," she sighed, moving on to her nose. "Too small compared to such a wide mouth." Dabbing and blending, she lifted her chin and studied the neck she thought too long, the hair in desperate need of trimming and again to her dull eyes. Setting down the little pot of cream, she picked up a kohl pencil and halfheartedly stroked a few lines above and below her lashes. Thankfully they were long and dark, curling and thick without demanding any more attention. Her lips were, however, another matter, she decided, dropping the pencil and dipping a fingertip into rose colored gloss. This she spread over their chapped surfaces, making a mental note to remember to use it daily. Leaving worst for last, she glanced up at her hair, took it down and began to brush it with unenthusiastic strokes, her mind already drifting to another busy day ahead of her. Unfortunately it soon drifted in the wrong direction, as it had so many times before.

She remembered Erik taking her hair down, caressing it with his fingers and inhaling its fragrance as if it were something special. He had even wanted an explanation as to why it smelled like lemons and flowers. The gentle roughness of his voice prickled her senses even now, its timber moving over her like a caress. She closed her eyes against a tide of longing, dropping her hand to her lap as she pictured his astonishing eyes in her mind. They held her prisoner, those eyes of his, firing her hunger for his careful but exquisite possession. With a gasp of protest she remembered how difficult the waiting had been up until that moment when they became one. It had ended too soon, yet they were still one in the way her Bible explained. As she opened her eyes and looked into the mirror, she knew without a doubt that without him she was now only half of what she had become, with him. Her grief could only be explained in this way, she realized. Not only did she miss him, but she also missed that part of herself. 

"Face it," she whispered softly to her reflection, "you must see him again…no matter what he says."

_But how?_ She had no idea where he was, denied any clue of his whereabouts. Even worse, his latest telegram stated quite simply that parting would be their best course of action, for all concerned. It was the cool rationality in his message which had triggered her latest spell of grief. She was forced to carry on under the worried and watchful eye of everyone in the Opera, and it was obvious that no matter what she did to her appearance, no matter how much makeup or how bright a smile she wore, she was grieving for her husband. Yet he, on the other hand, was obviously very much alive and busy building a life without her. He had been alone most of his life, and it was obvious he didn't need her or anyone else. Staring at the tears glinting in her eyes she straightened her back, pushed away from the table and got up, turning to grab her wrap.

"I don't care what it says," she vowed, glancing at his latest telegram before shoving it into her bag. "He's not going to toss me aside—not without a fight!"

With purposeful steps she marched from her dormitory wing toward the main section of the opera house, seeing none of the details of its beautifully restored interior, art work or new carpeting. By the time she finally gained the stage and padded across the newly installed flooring beneath the dazzling glow of a somewhat smaller chandelier replacing its magnificent predecessor, she lifted her chin and directed her gaze toward the rows of new seating, focusing on the small group gathering there for her introduction. Setting aside her plans to hire a detective to spy upon her husband, she waited while her prospective students seated themselves with their parents. With a critical eye she studied their posture and movements, their attention span and behavior as they waited for auditions to begin.

"Ah, Mlle. Marguerite!" Mon. Reyer greeted, hurrying toward the orchestra pit with his arms full of sheet music. "Thank you for coming early—they've been arriving for the past half hour!"

She glanced down, smiling indulgently. "It's 'Madame,' Mon. Reyer," she gently corrected him for what must have been the fourth time since her return. "Do you know who will be playing for us today?"

He dumped the pile upon the piano bench and glanced up. "You are looking at him," he sighed, gripping his music stand as he tried to compose himself. "No one else would volunteer."

She walked toward the edge of the stage and bent down, glancing toward a parent who somehow seemed familiar. Sensing Mon. Reyer's regard, she turned her attention back to him. "I appreciate your coming here on your day off," she smiled. "You don't know how much I regret not continuing with my pianoforte lessons: it would have saved you the trouble."

"I've nothing to do at home," he replied, waving a hand dismissively as he slid onto the bench. "It would help if we could rehearse your solo afterward," he added hopefully. "I am intrigued by the new music you gave me."

"Perhaps tomorrow?" she hoped, thinking of her plan and too agitated to dance to the song Erik had once written for her.

"But I so look forward to it, Mademoi—Madame," he corrected himself. "You must hear the music—

Magnificent and haunting, and I am sure your interpretation will be very moving. Once the audience hears it, I doubt they will soon recover."

"That is my hope, but for now I think we should start, _oui_ Monsieur?"

Glancing over one shoulder and seeing the impatience in the adults' feature, he nodded his approval and set his hands to the keys while Meg stretched to her full height and looked out over the group assembled for auditions.

"Good morning," she began with raised voice, threading her fingers together at her waist. "Welcome to the Opera Populaire this afternoon. My name is Marguerite Destler, choreographer and instructor for the Children's Corps de Ballet—"

A small burst of applause interrupted, to which she half bowed. "Please, allow me to introduce Mon. Reyer, Opera Conductor, who will honor us with his playing today."

Reyer waved halfheartedly and began to play softly as she continued.

"I can see that you are all excited to begin, so please—ladies first, up on the stage."

At that moment her mother arrived, nodding in greeting as they watched the girls ascend the stairs to the stage. Again, her attention was drawn to the mother and son who waited their turn in the last row of the section where the rest were gathered. Even from a distance Meg could sense the boy's fear, as well as his mother's rapt attention. Suddenly, as if transported in time, Meg saw them again in her mind, and she remembered. Her heart began to pound and she froze, still aware of the girls moving to gather around her as well as someone entering the hall from the right. Above the excited comments of the girls she heard Raoul's voice rise above the noise as he directed yet another tour of investors. She could see them entering but staying close at his side as he spoke more quietly to them, his eyes on the stage and his and pointing at different objects d'art around the hall. Shifting her gaze back to the boy and his mother, she whispered his name.

"Joseph," she breathed, staring at the one person who had left with Erik that fateful night in Brussels and whom she had been forbidden to see. Had his mother not accompanied him, Meg doubted she would have recognized him, so markedly different was his appearance. He was much thinner and very pale, as if he was ill. Gone was the curious, carefree boy she had once met. Now, his face registered fear and panic as he shifted his gaze from her to Raoul's tour group. As her mother came to her side she watched him bolt unexpectedly from his mother's side. To her astonishment, he ran toward her.

"Joseph, you come right back here!" his mother screeched, staring after him. The children began to scream and laugh as his expression changing to hatred. He charged up the stairs toward her, and bracing herself, Meg felt his body slam into her. He threw his arms around her and clung tightly, his voice sounding like gasps of sobbing. Struggling to maintain her balance, she pushed against him but he would not release her. Suddenly he lifted his head, his eyes pleading with her.

"It's him!" he gasped, his voice was a whispered croak of pain. Though she squirmed against his surprisingly strong grip he began to drag her toward the far side of the stage. "We must go!" he choked, whirling his head around toward the group as they strolled toward the stage area.

"Joseph!" his mother scolded, climbing the stairs as the other children began to complain, some even taunting Joseph to make him wait his turn. Everyone seemed to ignore the feeble tapping of Mon. Reyer's baton as he quietly pleaded for order. 

"What is it, Joseph?" Meg soothed, curling her hands around his shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"This is unacceptable, young man!" his mother cried, coming up to them and pulling at his arm. "Let Mme. Destler go!"

They heard the sharp clap of two hands as her mother took charge. "Children—settle down, now!" she commanded, effectively cutting through the chaos of noise. Meg glanced at her stern expression and upheld arm as she scanned the crowd before her. True to her ability to influence all life forms and circumstances, she quickly brought order as voices were lowered and their attention turned to her. When she nodded to Meg she knew she had been released her from her duties, and with a sigh of relief she let Joseph push her to stage left. His mother followed, her expression tortured and apologetic. While her mother began to order the girls to line up and get into position, they stepped behind the edge of the curtain and she bent to look into Joseph's terrified gaze.

"Who has frightened you?" she asked quietly, but he shook his head vigorously. Meeting his mother's gaze she watched her glance suspiciously toward the group Raoul was leading along the side of the theatre, all acting oblivious to their auditions as they gazed up and nodded at the new chandelier. Meg saw her release her grip on Joseph's arm and instead place her hands upon his back to slowly massage it. She met Meg's waiting gaze with a shake of her head.

"This is the first time he has spoken in weeks," she said, her voice choked with emotion. 

Meg stared at her a moment, then gazed down into Joseph's upturned face, her hand lifting to his cheek.

_**Erik turned**_ to glance back over his shoulder, dull disbelief settling in the pit of his stomach. The collection of gifts and flowers spread beneath the trees was without a doubt and much to his horror a tribute to him. He had not believed the reports Gilbert had given him, nor taken seriously his department's fears that he had unwittingly gathered a solid group of devotees who remained to this day intent upon his return. The irony of this shrine-like display of affection, compared to the cold disregard of his own wife did not escape him, nor did the recent turn of events he had encountered. Ever since coming back to this city he had felt more and more out of place, as if he had stepped into a foreign landscape unsure of himself as to what to do or say. And he hated feeling that way.

Shifting his gaze from flowers to notes to bottles of cologne, liquor, gift baskets and even articles of women's unmentionables, he pursed his lips in disgust. He had come back risking everything he knew and had become, and without freedom or privacy. His patience was wearing thin and he knew he hadn't much time, for he was on a mission and could not afford any distractions. Straightening his shoulders, he jammed his hands upon his hips and shook his head at the shrine devoted to him. 

"Well, if it is the phantom which you so desire, then you shall have him," he vowed quietly, "…but afterward, may he rest in peace."

Turning abruptly he strode into the same tunnel from which he had fled only months before. Though bound by law to return thus, he was nevertheless determined to fulfill his own appointed task to the best of his abilities, regardless of the consequences. Quickly executing his descent toward the lower tunnels, he forced all concern for the past from his mind save one. Glancing up at the dripping ceiling he looked beyond it, knowing she was up there somewhere, living her life as she had before. As he quickened his pace he was assaulted by one memory in particular, one he could not forget for as long as he lived. He saw her running after him, her lovely face lit with determination to help him when no one else had. And for that, he owed her one last chance. 

_**"Erik!" Aaron's voice echoed**_ toward him as he approached the table where his friend stood leaning with both hands planted upon its surface.

Smiling in greeting, Erik extended his hand as he came to a halt. It was gripped tightly and shaken forcefully. "It's good to see you," he told Aaron, his mood lightening considerably.

"You made it back," Aaron congratulated him, "and early, too."

Erik nodded, gazing around the main tunnel in astonishment and sensing what must have been a gargantuan effort to transform the dusty, cave like expanse into a living quarters. A large dormitory had been constructed, tastefully divided into private sectors by screens, each protecting an area furnished with cots, easy chairs and tables. He could hear work still being done in the feeder tunnels, as well as the echoes of children at play. At the farthest exit he spotted a small group of them playing tag. Lifting a hand, Aaron called to them and announced his arrival. They cheered and waved in greeting but continued their game.

"I see that your whole family is here," Erik commented, turning to look into the older man's weathered face. "And that you've been hard at work."

Aaron shrugged and crossed his arms. "They are excited to have a new home," he answered, sweeping his gaze over Erik in quick assessment. "You, on the other hand, look exhausted."

"I am, thanks to our taskmaster…is he here yet?"

"On his way, and bringing an important official with him," Aaron added, leaning closer and lowering his voice. "One of us, I hear."

Erik lifted a brow in surprise. "Us spies?"

Aaron smiled. "Us Jews…someone named Cremieux, whom we apparently have to thank for all this."

"The politician I've heard so much about?"

"The very one—he wants to meet us and see if everything is ready for Monday night, or should I say Monday morning?"

Looking away, Erik scanned their surroundings more critically. "Why so many cots? I was told there would only be a handful at a time."

"Refugees, yes, not counting the other homeless."

Erik glanced back. "All the homeless—are you sure you have enough cots?"

Aaron laughed loudly, earning a shout of protest from Inspector Leger who appeared from a side tunnel. Close by his side was Gilbert, followed by several policemen, while at his other side was a distinguished looking man with an intelligent face.

"Keep your voices down!" Leger barked quietly, "we don't want to attract any undue attention. This is Aaron, who is in charge of housing and transfer."

The older man nodded and shook his hand, then turned to take Erik's, holding it longer than expected. "And you must be our phantom," he said with a twinkle in his eyes, "Mon. Destler, I presume?"

"Arnon," he corrected, "Giles Arnon."

"Very good," the man smiled. "Just call me Cremieux—which is, in fact, my real name."

Erik held his intense scrutiny, feeling his patience slip. He wanted to get this meeting over with and be about the more important business of the day. Finally the man released his hand as Leger cleared his throat.

"Once again, _gentlemen,_" he emphasized, gazing meaningfully at Erik, "the plan is to meet here at 11:00 tomorrow night, then proceed to Notre Dame where Daniel will be waiting beneath the two statues—"

"Synagogia and Ecclesia," Erik interjected, remembering staring up at them earlier, after he had awakened too early from his rest. He'd spent the day wandering the city completely unmasked, astounded that the only reaction he'd earned was some unwelcome female attention. Now he stood with one hand smoothing the corrected side of his face, halfheartedly listening to the inspector. 

"A fitting rendezvous, eh gentlemen?" Cremieux breathed, "the place where two paths diverged, with terrible consequences."

Erik nodded, glancing at Aaron whose frown deepened. The police, however, seemed unimpressed at the irony of the situation.

"Remember to wait until you are approached," Leger instructed them. "There will be three men with him, all dressed as sailors. Escort them here along the route outlined, Aaron, see that Daniel has a change of clothing, then he and Erik will return to the temple—"

"Giles," Erik corrected him.

"—who will come back alone by 9:00 on Tuesday night," Leger said without reacting. "Wait at the opera stables with your horse. Aaron will escort them through the tunnels to meet you, at which point you guide them on to the parish. Stay over one night and return your horse to the livery in the Jewish Quarter. You can have the next day off to rest."

Erik bowed slightly. "Very generous, Inspector." To his surprise, Leger smirked and slapped his shoulder.

"Any questions?" he asked them, earning only a shrug from Aaron. "All right, this meeting is dismissed."

Erik caught his arm and turned him aside. "A moment of your time," he apologized, handing Leger the document he had procured only that afternoon. "This is a copy of my deed for legal residence, for your records, sir."

Leger took it from him, scanned the contents and refolded it. "Good: she is free to take up residence there, but for the time being keep your distance, understood?"

Erik ground his jaw, glancing away. "No, I don't understand," he objected, eyeing him critically. "Don't force me to get my lawyer—"

"We will discuss this later," Leger insisted, glancing toward the politician. "Right now I cannot waste Mon. Cremieux's time." 

"I am counting on you to protect her," Erik reminded him, watching him wave Gilbert over, "at least until I am free to do it myself."

"Your presence is what endangers her," Leger stated, "but we hope to correct that in the fall. Until then, we have something for you."

Erik watched as one of Gilbert's assistants brought forward a canvas sack and dropped it to the table against the wall.

"Your mail," Leger explained, stepping back with an unreadable expression on his face. Erik thought he looked displeased, but shifted his attention to Gilbert's worried frown before he handed over another envelope.

"This telegram just came into headquarters for you," Gilbert said quietly.

Erik stared at it suspiciously, then took it and began to open it. Glancing up and seeing them both watching him, he smiled cynically. "May I?"

Leger glanced toward Cremieux, who was speaking with Aaron but noticing his regard came over to them. He pinned Erik with another piercing gaze.

"I cannot stress enough the importance of your work," the older man told Erik. "It is vital that every detail be executed…I hope we have made that clear, sir?"

"Yes," Erik answered stiffly, "very clear."

Cremieux pointed to his telegram. "Now go ahead and read it—I will see you at our next rendezvous."

Erik stared suspiciously at the back turned toward him. Though he had never met a politician before, he was not surprised at the man's behavior. Sharp and observant, he was nevertheless vague and mysterious in his dealings, leading Erik to trust him less than he normally would trust anyone. At least until the man's character could be tested. It was only fair, he told himself, to treat him as he himself was being treated. 

"I'll help you sort your mail, if you like," Aaron quipped, coming up to his side as they both watched the others leave.

Ignoring his tease, Erik unfolded the telegram and quickly scanned it, his anger flaring. Shaking off Aaron's restraining hand, he started after them, shaking the telegram toward their retreating backs.

"It says: 'Pray about a legal separation' he announced, halting when Leger turned to face him. He exchanged a somber look with Cremieux, who to his credit looked embarrassed.

"That is most regrettable—" Leger answered, his expression sincere. "Perhaps when our work is completed you might be—"

"You have interfered with my marriage long enough," Erik warned, nearly wincing in pain from Meg's message. "You have no legal right to do so, and you cannot stop me from seeing her!" Then, turning on his heel, he left them gaping after him with expressions of shock, pity and admiration. Storming past Aaron, he slapped a hand on his shoulder to exclude him as he strode into the middle tunnel. He did not see the heads turned to follow his departure, or hear Leger's apology to Cremieux.

The politician held up a hand. "Let him see her," he decided, gazing after him. "It's been long enough, I think."

"But Your Honor, you don't know his wife," Leger reasoned, "she has a sharp mind and a will of her own—"

"She would have to in order to hold _his_ attention," Cremieux mused, shaking his head. "And I'm afraid I will have to insist, Inspector. I hold marriage in the highest regard, therefore whatever he needs, make sure he gets it."

Leger put a hand to his head in obvious exasperation. "What is it about him that earns him special privileges, first from Judge Miller, and now from you?"

Cremieux leaned close as they turned and walked toward the exit. "I think we all know the answer to that," he said calmly. "And never forget that he is risking his life for the good of France—who knows how long he has left?"

Leger smiled, unconvinced. "You may think that if you wish, but you have yet to see whom you are dealing with, sir…" 

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt _

13


	44. Chapter 44 The Audition

_**Chapter 44 The Audition**_

Ripping down a poster announcing the upcoming premiere of _Don Juan_, Erik flung it behind him as he moved stealthily along the basement corridor of the opera house. In the breast pocket of his jacket was his wife's latest warning to pray about a legal separation, sounding the final notes in their own personal opera of a marriage. Regardless of her obvious choice to separate from him, he nevertheless journeyed toward her with only the desire to see her again, even if it was to be for the last time. Clutching his chest at the physical pain he felt, he could not help but remember the book she had given him, as well as the one he had stolen from her drawer at the parish. Neither matched the tone of her telegrams, yet he knew that when he looked into her eyes he would finally learn the truth of her feelings concerning him. His emotions were shipwrecked, dominated by the slow boil of his anger and more difficult to control than he had expected. Still, he set his jaw and hurried his pace up another floor toward the stage, pausing to ensure that no one was about while he quoted Scriptures to himself in an effort to deal with the cruel realities of his position.

"He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty," he whispered, setting aside all intent of hurting her as much as she had hurt him; "…and that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city,"1 he repeated from memory, releasing his plan to sue the police for the injustice of their terms. "Cease from anger, and forsake wrath: fret not thyself in any wise to do evil"2 he urged himself, ascending to yet another level of the building. "But now ye also put off all these; anger, wrath, malice…lie not one to another, seeing that ye have put off the old man with his deeds; and have put on the new man, which is renewed in knowledge after the image of Him that created him."3

Approaching the men's wing he slowed to a stop to peer around the corner, quickly drawing back at the sound of voices. Holding his breath, he listened carefully to the sound of footsteps and estimating there to be two of them heading in his direction. Retreating silently to the broom closet he'd just passed, he turned the knob and slipped inside. Just as he eased his hand from the knob the steps drew nearer and halted as they lowered their voices. Erik leaned his ear to the door, staring into the darkness as he tried to discern who they were: opera employees or police? More of Raoul's men, hired to protect Christine? Holding his breath, he prayed that whoever they were, they would not discover him.

"Any sign of him we report it to Gilbert," a deep voice emphasized, "that's the rule."

"Why not de Chagny?" the other asked, his voice sounding younger and as if it belonged to someone of slighter build. They began walking again, coming even closer.

Flattening himself against the back wall, Erik touched the mop swaying by his shoulder to steady it. He heard keys rattling as they stopped and opened the lock of the door just beyond his. Praying they would not bother with the cleaning man's supplies, he closed his eyes and listened.

"They're in here: new orders state detectives only—apparently Leger thinks the young count is no longer trustworthy."

"Why not?"

"I've no idea."

Erik smiled at the news, tempted to state that trusting Leger was far wiser than trusting Raoul de Chagny. Yet even as he thought it he remembered that he had chosen to forgive Raoul for having him beaten. With his smile fading he hung his head and heard the other man speak.

"Well, it will be a great relief after Friday night, when it's all over."

"I have my doubts about that, but let's get back to the others and see if they found any sign of his return."

As they started down the hall Erik released the breath he'd been holding, knowing they referred to him. No further words were exchanged and after a few moments the sound of their steps faded and he relaxed back against the wall to be sure no one else was about before he slowly opened the door and let himself out. Hearing and seeing no one else, he continued on his way in the opposite direction. Skimming his fingertips along the wall, he felt the irregularity in its seam and followed it until its end, then traced the line upward to the loosened moulding. Prying it up just enough to feel the hidden latch he tugging it down, smiling at the soft scraping sound he heard at the end of the hall. Tucking up the wood he headed for it and quickly ducked beneath the stairs to see the hidden trap door slightly ajar. The escape way was just where he remembered it, but as he ducked inside he realized that he had grown considerably since the last time he'd availed himself of its secrecy. He'd been 14 years of age then, and now found he had much less room in which to move about as he reached back to gently close the door. Off in the distance he heard the spring click and knew he was safe.

Everything was going according to plan, except for the roving guards patrolling the corridors, he thought as he straightened to study the condition of the narrow, steep stairway before him. It was exceedingly dusty and nearly pitch black inside, cut off from the heating system. Pulling up both shirt and jacket collars, he retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it over his nose with a prayer that the dust would not make him sneeze and risk revealing himself. Then very carefully he started to climb the stairway.

Off in the distance he could hear the banging of the pipes but little else. Ascending two flights, he reached the stage level and stopped to catch his breath. Though he was situated in the bowels of the backstage area he could hear the distant sounds of music and the tromp of feet to the accompaniment of the music. If he had been correctly informed it was audition time for the children's ballet, and Meg was sure to be in attendance. Brushing absently at the cobwebs and dust clinging to his hair and shoulders, he glanced up, seized by a sudden longing for the catwalks and swinging ropes high above the stage where he had freely enjoyed his acrobatics while keeping a close eye on the proceedings below.

_Perhaps I enjoyed it too much,_ he whispered, humbled by the memories flooding his mind. Yet he had little time left before they auditions closed and the building would again be empty and silent. Slowly making his way to the small porthole he reached for the handle and slid back the panel covering it. Blinking against the sudden flood of light, he waited for his eyes to focus before peering out to scan the perimeter of the theatre. He could see back to the farthest exit where a small group of well dressed people stood, frowning as he recognized Raoul at the lead. Off to the side stood the two men who had beaten him, supposedly for stalking Christine. Shaking his head at the continual flood of misunderstanding surrounding him, Erik shifted his attention from them to scan the theatre. All in all he counted six guards stationed inside while he noted the details of its restoration and new additions made by wealthy benefactors as well as the funding pouring in from the proceeds of _Don_ _Juan_.

_Brilliant move,_ he had to admit, _financing opera repairs by stealing away my royalties. Finally,_ he thought with a smirk, _the managers have exceeded my expectations._

"So things are progressing well toward opening night," he whispered, shifting his gaze to the opposite side of the stage. Freshly painted scenery for the premiere stood against the back walls, surprising him with their accuracy. "They have hired better artists," he said softly, knowing he would not be overheard with the applause and shouting erupting from the hall. Scanning the stage area he searched for a sign of her among the girls ready to audition, thinking it odd that the boys also began to leave their seats and head toward the stairs. Something was amiss, he realized, when Mon. Reyer rose from his keyboard and began to tap his baton against the music stand.

It occurred to him then that the children from the parish had wanted to attend this audition, and by now had no doubt come up from the underground. When a cry rang out he grimaced, praying that they would not be looked upon with suspicion by the other children. A flurry of activity seemed to be focused at the opposite end of the stage, and when he followed it with his gaze he saw her.

She was standing in the grip of a boy, her eyes wide with concern. Paler and thinner than he remembered, she was dressed in a pale blue costume and matching ballet shoes. Her hair was unbound yet draped over one shoulder, and as he studied her face his heart beat faster. Narrowing his gaze, he told himself not to be fooled by her quiet beauty and the compassion in her eyes. She was deceptively tough and much more dangerous than he could ever have imagined. He clenched his jaw and reminded himself of the fact that she had abandoned him in Brussels when he had needed her most. Worse, she had telegraphed her rejection of him in stages, little by little breaking what he thought must have been his heart. Yet still, seeing her again affected him nonetheless.

She was caught in the midst of a desperate situation, and he wondered what was happening that he could not see. The stage was filling with children, further agitating the boy who clung to Meg, and when he turned his head as if seeking a place to flee, Erik saw his face. His breath caught: _Joseph!_

Keeping his hands on Meg's arms, he looked up at her as if she might rescue him. The change in him was drastic, for he appeared to have grown timid and looked unwell. Clutching the frame of the porthole, Erik strained closer as Joseph started to speak and the people crowded around them.

"Please Mme. Meg, don't go near him—he's a bad man—"

Meg stared uncomprehendingly at him, shifting her hands to his shoulders. "Who is, Joseph?"

Listening intently, Erik shifted his gaze to a woman who pulled at Joseph's arm and realized that it was his mother. "You must not accuse people of things which you or I have no idea—" she lectured him.

Joseph shook his head. "But he's evil, and so are his two friends!" he protested, looking from his mother back to Meg. All the while he darted furtive glances out into the hall.

Meg gripped him tighter. "What two friends?"

"Please Madame, is there some place where we might discuss this in private?" his mother pleaded, glancing over her shoulder at the unwanted attention they were attracting.

"They beat him up and I saw it," Joseph croaked, "they're bad!" 

"Beat who up?" Meg choked, her expression full of alarm.

"Monsieur Erik!" he cried, his voice catching.

Erik felt his heart stop when he realized Joseph had seen everything. Shifting his attention back to his wife, he watched her expression change from alarm to shock, and suddenly he doubted his prior assumption that she knew about his injuries from Jean and Rosalie. Suspicious of Leger and Gilbert, he now realized they must have sworn her godparents to secrecy. Could it be, he wondered, that Meg assumed his absence was for other reasons? Did she think that he had left _her_?

"Erik?" she gasped, gently shaking the boy. "What does this have to do with Erik, Joseph?"

Wild eyed, Joseph was scanning his surroundings as if looking for what must surely be Raoul and his men. "They beat Erik, in the men's room," he choked, gazing up at Meg's face in horror. "There was so much blood! I couldn't move until they dragged him out, and then I got sick—"

"Dear Joseph," his mother soothed, kissing his head as she glanced nervously at Meg. "Why didn't you tell us this before?"

"But how can that be?" Meg gasped, her face white. "My husband is working, traveling—"

"I'm not making it up!" Joseph shouted, pulling away. "They killed him, and I hate them all!"

Erik had all he could do to keep from revealing himself, for his heart went out to Joseph. "I'm not dead," he whispered, watching the crowd around the boy growing. Yet he knew he could not afford to be seen in public. The children fell still with anticipation, Meg had closed her eyes and even Louise stood like a statue, her hand over her mouth. Fortunately there was no sign of Raoul or his men.

Joseph took a step backward, sniffing and swiping away the single tear that had spilled from his eye. "They kept hitting him over and over, but he wouldn't fight back! I peeked out of the door and saw them do it, but something told me to hide. And then they dragged him out…"

"What a sissy!" a young voice sneered, and within seconds other voices joined his in mockery and laughter. Joseph, as if seeing the others for the first time, bolted and ran from their midst. Heading toward the back of the stage, he ran past the very place where Erik stood unable to move.

"Stop, Joseph!" Meg and his mother pleaded, starting after him. "Wait, please!"

Against his better judgment Erik leapt into motion, moving quickly along the passageway toward its nearest exit. He could hear Meg's ballet shoes thumping along the wooden floor as she ran after Joseph, calling out to him. His mother's shoes clamped loudly along with them.

"My son, my son!" she cried, her voice weakened by panting for breath.

Reaching the exit Erik swung himself out under cover of the huge set boards, planning his course to cut across Joseph's path. He could hear his footsteps and knew he had a chance to get to him before anyone else did. Passing a mound of rehearsal clothing piled onto a back table, he snatched up one of the black masks and set it in place as he ran.

"I knew nobody would believe me!" Joseph called back as he ran through the prop section, weaving in and out among the stacked crates.

"Where are you?" his mother called, slowing her steps as Meg kept after him.

"Show me who beat him, Joseph!" she pleaded, her voice indicating she was on Joseph's trail but some distance behind.

He did not answer but Erik caught sight of a curtain moving aside and diverted his course, admiring Joseph's cunning at escaping them. For not knowing his way around the backstage area, he seemed very capable of eluding capture.

"The one with the lady singer," Joseph called back, darting away from Erik's sight. The women changed course according to the direction of his voice, coming closer.

"You mean Christine?" Meg called as she moved aside the clothing racks. Erik knew she was trying to keep him talking so that she could find him.

Erik smiled when he saw a float wobble off to his right and followed along, hearing a soft sob that brought him to a standstill. Gazing wildly about him, he searched for a sign of the boy.

"Joseph!" he whispered, gripping the railing of the spiral staircase which led up to the catwalks. He hesitated, waiting for permission, and after a moment he heard a whisper.

"Over here!"

Carefully edging toward the sound, Erik was suddenly slammed by Joseph's body as the boy jumped up and into his arms. Staggering a bit as his arms circled his neck, Erik chuckled softly despite the fierce hug.

"You're alive!" Joseph whispered, gripping him tighter as Erik turned and slipped away from the sound of approaching steps. Covering some distance before he felt no one would find them, he sat Joseph down upon a large crate, pulled his arms from his neck and settled his hands on the boy's shoulders. Looking him in the eye, he smiled as Joseph drank in the sight of him, placing a finger over his lips until the boy nodded.

"I want to surprise Meg," he dared to whisper. "Can you keep a secret and not tell her I'm here?"

Joseph nodded vigorously, pulling down Erik's mask as his face lit with pleasure. He gripped Erik's arms tightly. "You look better!" he whispered back.

"I am, but I'm sorry you saw what you did," Erik whispered back.

"Joseph, please come out!" Meg called from a distance. "I need to ask you about Erik—"

Erik turned his head toward the sound of her voice, pulling a note from his pocket before he turned back to face Joseph. "Could you give this to Meg for me, without anyone else seeing?"

Joseph snatched it up and tucked it into his vest with a nod. "Another surprise?" he whispered delightedly.

Erik nodded and squeezed his shoulders. "Now go back and audition for me—I expect you to excel, and I'll find you later when rehearsals start."

Joseph's face brightened further. "Here? You'll be watching for me?"

Erik nodded. "And don't worry about those men—I am taking care of the problem. Even if they find out you saw them, they cannot do anything to you. The police are watching them very carefully."

Joseph hugged Erik fiercely and jumped down from the crate, turning to wave as Erik saluted and ducked out of sight. He heard Joseph run off and followed at a distance, keeping out of sight. It wasn't long before he saw Meg circling the area.

"Any sign of him?" Joseph's mother called out from somewhere behind the scenery panels.

"Not yet," Meg called back. "Keep looking." 

"Maman!" Joseph called from close by, and then he flung himself at his mother to hug her.

"Darling, you're going to knock me over!" she laughed, hugging him and smiling at Meg as she approached.

Erik saw the longing in her gaze as she watched them, and something melted within his heart. Joseph's mother advised they return to the stage and pulled him along after her. Meg nodded and followed them, and Erik moved silently alongside. He saw her look of surprise when Joseph turned and slyly extended an envelope toward her. She reached for it, a puzzled expression on her face.

"It's for you," Joseph announced proudly, walking backward at his mother's side.

She looked up from Erik's handwriting to stare at him in shock. "Where did you get this?" she whispered loud enough for Erik to hear.

Joseph smiled, gesturing with a backward nod of his head. "Back by the props."

"Where—how did you find it?"

Joseph avoided her gaze and shrugged. "I found it: aren't you going to open it?"

Erik watched her steps slow as she glanced suspiciously around, her expression a mixture of fear and hope. Erik knew that she sensed his presence, no matter what Joseph said. He clung to the railing as he watched her tear open the envelope and find the key and his note. She looked up, biting her lower lip as she seemed to grow even paler.

"…and after that we are going to have a word with the police about what you saw," they could hear Joseph's mother lecture before the piano began to play again, followed by the tromp of many feet as rehearsal resumed.

They were alone in the backstage area, and Erik watched his wife try to digest the fact that he had given Joseph a note for her. Even from a distance he could see how the prospect of his having entered the building upset her. Still, with Joseph's help he had gotten the envelope to her, an unexpected coup. The fact that she did not question Joseph further concerning his experience in Brussels spoke volumes about her concern for him. Yet despite this he continued to pray for a way to reach her and heal their relationship. In his own mind, it was an impossibility, but he could negate the obvious fact that another will was at work beyond his own.

He watched her shoulders slump as she tucked the envelope into her pocket and walked off without a backward glance. When it was safe to move again he ascended the stairs and hurried along the catwalks and ropes to leave a different way than that which he had taken here, knowing that he was already late for his dinner appointment and would have a lot of explaining to do. 

_**Rosalie put away the last**_ of the polished candlesticks and closed the cupboard, sighing tiredly. It was late and though Jean was on duty at the hospital, she was in a hurry to get home. Longing for a long soak in the tub and an early bedtime alone, she anticipated her sleep as one might an escape. For weeks she had carried a heavy burden she had fought against carrying, but it was useless arguing with not only Jean but the Inspector and his detectives. All her objections seem to fall upon deaf ears, even causing discord in her own marriage. Yet whenever she saw Marguerite or Louise she felt weak and consumed with guilt for the part she was forced to play. Closing her eyes, she banished the memory of poor Erik recovering from a horrible surgery alone and without comfort, facing a long probation of dangerous service to unknown forces that cared little about his safety.

"May G-d forgive me," she whispered, turning to snatch up her bag and wrap as she headed back toward the sanctuary. It was unwise to venture out at night in this section of the city, but she had volunteered at the temple and the Almighty would have to protect because of her good deeds. Reminding herself that the stables were only a few blocks away and her footman would be waiting with the carriage, she passed down the corridor which led to the foyer and paused, hearing a sound at the door. Ducking into hiding and suspicious of burglars, she stared into the dimly lit entryway as a tall man slipped inside and went to the sanctuary doors to peek in. Covering her mouth in fear, she watched him pass the shaft of light streaming out from between the doors and saw his face. Clamping her hand over her mouth she shook her head, hardly believing her eyes. 

Erik! her mind screamed even as he slipped into the sanctuary. Her heart leapt with joy despite her shock and confusion. _What was he doing here? _But thank God he looked well, unlike the days following his surgery when she had tried to visit him in the hospital. Clearly depressed and angry, she could see that he was in pain both physically and mentally. But what was he doing here, in Paris, even more astonishing, in her synagogue, when all the time Meg had been wasting away pining for him, thinking him far away and busy with his assignments…?

Waiting to see if he would come back out, she soon gave up and slowly tiptoed out of hiding toward the door, pausing to listen intently to the whispers coming from the sanctuary opposite her. She could hear Daniel putting things away after the service, but he was out of the line of her vision. On the other hand she could see Erik moving soundlessly past the rows of benches toward the bema, and then he too was out of her range of sight.

"Ah, there you are Giles!" Daniel's voice echoed toward her, even though he spoke quietly.

_Giles?_ Instantly suspicious of Erik's pretense at being someone else, Rosalie began to worry about what she was about to witness.

"Sorry I'm late," Erik's deeper and softer voice answered. Rosalie felt a chill run down her spine as she clutched the door handle.

"We just finished up havdalah service and I lingered to check a few things—what's the matter? You look upset."

There was tight sigh and a pause. "I've had a bad day," Erik answered, and she heard the sound of a pew book being replaced in the rack.

A chair scudded across the bema carpet. "Anything I might help with?"

"I'm afraid not," Rosalie heard him the somewhat dejected reply. Footsteps sounded on the flooring just below the bema. "Why are you up there?"

"I'm just tidying up," Daniel answered good naturedly.

There was a pregnant pause. "You were leading the service," Erik's voice corrected. Rosalie could hear the accusation in his soft tone.

"I do, when my substitute cannot make it," Daniel joked.

"Why didn't you tell me you were the rabbi?" Erik said a bit harshly.

"_Am_ the rabbi—why, does it make a difference?"

"It—complicates things."

"Life is complicated, Giles, as we both know all too well," Daniel sighed, his step echoing on the floor as he must have descended the bema.

"We cannot work together," Erik warned in a quiet but stern voice. "Not if you are the rabbi."

"Why in G-d's name not?"

"I will not endanger your life for the sake of my probation."

Rosalie nearly cried out in protest. They were _working_ together, for his probation?

"It was Judge Miller's idea, Giles—who are we to question?" Daniel stated. "And this is not just a matter of your probation! I've been working alone for some time now, probably since the days you were still running the opera."

There was a tense silence and Rosalie feared Erik would leave, which would mean he would have to come her way.

"How did you know about that?" he demanded quietly.

"I know everything—and I insisted upon it as a condition for us working together. I don't understand your objection, Giles."

"You have people who depend upon you!" Erik argued. "Families, and elderly people—if anything were to happen to you because of me—"

"They would get another rabbi to replace me!" Daniel interrupted. "Don't you know our history, or would you like to know what happened to the one before me—no, never mind!"

Erik sighed deeply, as if in resignation. "I suppose we both have to do what is necessary, whether we like it or not."

"Don't worry about me, I've inherited generations of risk," Daniel advised, and she heard the slap of a hand upon a back. "I should be the one keeping _you_ out of our danger, for I doubt you were born to it."

"The whole world is involved in your history," Erik said dryly, "whether you like _that_ or not.""Is that so? And how did you come to that conclusion?"

"It's written in your own scriptures."

Daniel laughed with obvious pleasure. "Are you inviting me to discuss the Bible?"

"It would be my pleasure, but I doubt we'll have the time."

"Excuse me for past assumptions, but you wouldn't happen to be Jewish, would you Giles?"

"Me? Why would you ask?"

This time Daniel paused. "Now that I think about it, I've noticed some things about you."

"Such as?"

"Your first service with us, and the way you folded up the tallis, your apparent interest in our Bible—

few Gentiles would behave thus."

"You have been spying on me!"

"It's one of my jobs, yes, but you didn't answer my question."

"I have no idea!"

"Surely you would know if you were Jewish, unless your parents hid it from you."

Erik laughed cynically. "I doubt that was the case."

"Why do you say that?"

"I could give you a whole list of reasons, but frankly I'm too tired!"

"…there are signs, you know," Daniel insisted. "_Physical_ evidence—" 

"I am well aware of that, but that hardly constitutes proof."

Rosalie stared at the outer door, wondering if she could slip out unnoticed to avoid hearing any more. But then they might hear her...

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Daniel asked hopefully.

"I have no idea what I'm saying!"

"Not many Gentiles are circumcised," Daniel said excitedly, "though some doctors now recommend it for health reasons."

"The important thing is that I respect everything I know about your faith—"

"Another unusual statement for a 'non Jew', especially in this city!"

"Any non Jew should recognize that your people gave the world its Messiah."

"'Gave'—you think so?"

"I know so," Erik insisted. "It is clearly written in the prophets."

"Really? I wonder now if you and I weren't brought together for another reason, Giles."

"Stop calling me that."

"We should study together—"

"I thought we were having dinner, and by the way I am hungry even if you're not."

"Dinner and study," Daniel invited. "How about it?"

"All right, but I have to go out early in the morning."

"Not before you stay for morning minion which, as a Jew, you should be attending."

"You forget I am the doorkeeper," Erik replied, sounding almost amused. "I think that just for the sake of my identity that is _all _I should be for now." 

_**"It's a dinner invitation,"**_ Louise stated as she stared at the bold, elegant handwriting easily recognizable as Erik's. "Thank God he's apparently stopped sending those ridiculous telegrams."

Meg looked up at her mother in frustration. "How can I _not_ accept it, Maman?"

Louise raised one brow and handed it back to her. "I do worry about him risking even a private appearance, knowing the mob is still looking for him."

"Not to mention Leger's insistence that we have no contact," Meg sighed. "This could very well violate the terms of his probation." 

"Which he has honored thus far," Louise said distractedly, gazing toward the window. "They must have threatened to shoot him or you in order to win such compliance."

Meg ran her fingertips over the lacy design of the key he had left for her, wondering what it opened. "Erik can take care of himself," she answered, shaking her head at the complex turn of affairs. She still did not understand Erik's reason for being angry with her, aside from his obvious continuing infatuation with Christine. "Perhaps Leger forced him to resort to sending telegrams in the first place…it just seems so unlike him to communicate in that manner." She stared down at the note in her hands as evidence. 

"They never let him stay in one place long enough to do anything more," Louise sighed, pulling his note back and reading it again. "…he requests we appear at the address indicated on Monday at six, and that 'an old friend will be waiting there to explain.'" She looked pointedly at Meg. "Who could he possibly mean?"

"Pieter, or his lawyer," she surmised, shaking her head and walking away. "He has probably decided the burden of a wife is no longer so desirable."

Louise followed her to stand by the window, only facing her. "There will be no divorce in this family, not if I can help it!"

"It's not _my_ idea—you've read his telegrams!"

"Do not take them so seriously, Marguerite—Erik is a brilliant man, but even with half a brain he would surely see the love in your eyes!"

"He may still be in love with Christine, which would explain Raoul's possessiveness and resorting to violence—wait!" she worried. "What if the 'old friend' is _Christine_?" 

Louise shook her head. "That is not Erik's style, and besides her husband would never allow it!"

"She wouldn't have to let him know, and it would be just like the _old_ Erik to settle things with a confrontation!"

Louise took her by the arms and leaned close. "Haven't _you_ prompted one by running away, cherie? Think, ma petite! Why would send them a wedding gift as well as a written apology, asking for their forgiveness? And by the way, are you taking our advice and keeping your distance from her?"

Meg sighed in frustration. "She's disgusted with me, so yes, I am—I know that she has not forgiven him, so I suppose it is ridiculous of me to suspect her of loving him."

"As you should know by now, there is a very fine line between love and hatred," Louise said with a sigh. "Which is why I worry so much about you and Erik—"

"Well worry no more, Maman—he has no doubt forgotten all about me—"

"and I know how stubborn you both are," her mother continued, not listening to her. She shook her head, her eyes flashing with emotion. "But if you two let Christine ruin your lives I will never forgive either of you!"

"Christine has been my friend for years, Maman!"

"A friend would not use the past or even her own feelings to encourage you to divorce your husband!" Louise spat. "It seems to me that she just cannot stand to see Erik happy—"

"I'm sure that's not true, Maman: she worries that I will make the same mistakes she did, with the same man!"

"Christine thinks first of herself—do not allow yourself to fall into the same trap."

"I'm not like her, but I don't know what else to do, Maman!" Meg choked. "This is tearing me up!"

Louise pulled her into a rare embrace. "I know, ma chere!" she soothed, rubbing her back soothingly. "But now we have a chance to see what he has been up to...he has left us a key and a mystery to solve, and that is what we will do, together."

Meg pulled back and wiped her eyes. "I hope you're right, Maman…I am grateful that he invited you along, for I do not think I could manage it without you."

Louise kissed her cheek. "There is no need to worry, cherie. He has indicated that he will not be present out of respect for your feelings…so you see that he cares about you, beneath all the bluster of feelings."

"He cares about _you_, Maman."

Louise held up the handwritten note. "The fact that he did not send a telegram is a very good sign. Something has changed, so you must have hope."

Meg nodded, rubbing her own arms. "Perhaps after this he will make the time to meet with me…face to face." 

_1__Proverbs 16:32 __2__Psalm 37:8 __3__Col. 3:8-10 _

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt _


	45. Chapter 45 Hearing the Music

_**Chapter 45 Hearing the Music **_

_**Dear readers**__: although some of you have expressed confusion concerning different aspects of the story I hope this will be resolved with the next few chapters. Since the early days of writing this story on another website my beta and other reader advised against laying out too much of the story up front, and I have taken their advice in order to heighten the suspense and hold your interest. I did review a bit and it seems I made some mistakes concerning the notes/telegrams, for which I apologize. These are minor details which I hope will not spoil the overall effect of the love story. cslev_

Meg stared in disbelief across the gardens toward the phantom's shrine, watching the dark shadows of a dozen figures flit among its treasures. The moon, though shrouded with clouds, lit the landscape enough for her to determine they were all women, well dressed women judging by their outer garments. They were here to leave more trinkets of affection for her husband. She watched them kneel and rise in a strange dance of worship, some placing new items upon the brocade fabrics and rugs left there, others checking what they had left from previous visits. Jealousy and resentment swelled within her, yet she felt ashamed at her own weakness, for she'd run away instead of standing her ground and confronting Erik for the truth about his relationship with Christine. But she had run away then and was still running away, torn with indecision. It hurt to think of all their time together when her love for him was new and powerful, yet he had it seemed already experienced such things with Christine. But she was also too much in love with him to live without him. Whenever she had summoned the courage to seek an audience with him the police prevented her, making it easy for her to give up. And she had to also admit to a bit of relief at the prospect of avoiding the inevitable confrontation.

_I'm a coward_, she whispered, watching the women honor him with their gifts._ I'm just like them wanting him to know how I feel, yet too weak to come out of the shadows.  
_  
_But he did notice, today…_The impression was faint yet it came to her unexpectedly, flitting like a shadow across her mind, forcing her to face the truth. She pulled herself up out of her maelstrom of emotions and cast aside her doubts, jealousy, anger, longing and guilt to face the fact that Erik had come to the opera today. Joseph's appearance had not been a coincidence, but a sign that she was meant to learn the truth about her husband. From the moment the boy had run to her in terror to the happiness and pride in his eyes when she later found him, Joseph had become the answer to her prayers. Her weeks of praying for wisdom and patience ended today when Joseph came to the auditions. Still, she recognized one slight problem with their encounter: if what he said about Erik's being beaten was true, why had he lied about finding the note on the backstage floor? The change in his mood could only be explained by the fact that he had seen Erik. He had been there, however unexpectedly and for whatever reason, Erik had been there, and Joseph had seen him. Joseph's mother had scolded him about making up things about people, yet if what he said about Raoul's men beating Erik was indeed the truth, Erik had recovered and Joseph had witnessed both.

Erik had returned, and now he was using Joseph as his messenger in order to get to her. Though it thrilled her she couldn't forget his cold messages sent by telegram. Yet why was he here when the police had indicated he was out of the country? What had happened to make him risk violating his probation to contact her? These and many other questions remained unanswered.

The thought that Erik had been beaten filled her with horror and made her nauseated. She remembered gazing longingly after him as he left their dinner table to escort Joseph to the men's lavatory, just to help his parents cope with their younger, more demanding son. When he did not return she'd gone looking for him with the news of _Don Juan_ written on the flyer Mrs. Brigham had given her. But then she encountered Christine and assumed Erik had as well, but could she have been wrong about that all this time? But if he did not see Christine, why would Raoul be jealous and react the way Joseph indicated? Christine seemed to hold only hatred toward Erik, unless she was insincere about that. Remembering the look on Christine's face, she would have had to become a very good actress in the interim.

Closing her eyes in confusion, Meg let her thoughts travel back in time to another beating, not that long ago. She remembered seeing what the Buquet brothers had done to Erik, and how strongly her presence and care for him had seemed to touch him. And now, standing in the shadows across from the shrine made for him she began to hear the sound of a carriage out on the avenue. And then she saw herself running from the tunnel to help Erik. She saw him lean over and pull her up before him onto Prince's back the night they left from this very spot. She remembered nursing him in his delirium at the parish and suddenly she understood how he might interpret her absence as he awoke from being beaten, alone and far from everything familiar. However unwittingly, she had not been there for him, and for the first time knew that he would see her absence as a rejection.

The horses were coming closer, yet the women of the shrine continued to tend to their offerings. Watching one of them kneel and bow her head over a dummy of the phantom, Meg decided she had had just about enough. Drawing up to her full height and angrier than she had ever been she stormed down the path, shoved aside the gate and marched toward the shrine, yelling aloud despite the lateness of the hour and the approaching horses.

"Go away!" she ordered, raising her fist as she approached them. Momentarily halting in surprise, the group burst into action, catching up their belongings and scattering in different directions at her approach. "Trespassers! I'll summon the police if you return!" she threatened. "This is Opera property! Now go home and _stay_ there!" she screeched, taking pleasure at their alarm and hasty flight back into the brush.

A coach rounded the corner and entered the alley, slowing to a halt at the entrance to the stables. As she turned to go back inside Meg sensed something familiar about the vehicle as she paused to stare at the crest emblazoned upon its side door. Behind her the bushes stopped swaying and she knew she was alone, yet rooted to the spot she watched the coach door swung open and Rosalie's head pop out. She waved to Meg with frantic motions.

"Get in, quick!" Rosalie hissed in a whisper, glancing nervously about as she waved. "Hurry Marguerite, you must come with me!"

Meg rushed toward her. "What's wrong?" she whispered back. "Is Jean all right?"

Rosalie shook her head. "It's not my husband, but yours! Hurry, before he leaves!"

With one quick step up Meg ducked inside, amazed at how quickly they started off again. The coach turned and sped back over the cobblestoned alley as she gripped the handle to keep from being thrown to the floor.

"Erik? Is he all right?" she gasped, sliding over the upholstered seat toward Rosalie. "Where is he, and how did you ever find him?"

Rosalie pushed back against the corner of her seat, shaking her head wildly. "I should never have listened to the police!" she moaned. "I should have said something to you long ago, but I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me!"

Meg stared at her, heart pounding in fear. "What are you talking about? Is Erik all right?" she demanded, gripping Rosalie's hand. "Tell me!"

Rosalie surged forward and gripped her shoulders. "They said that if we told you anything it would put you both in danger, but now I wonder if separating you hasn't done more harm than good!" 

"What do you mean, Rosalie? I don't underst—" 

"There were threats on his life, and still are—"

"But you've seen him! That's where you are taking me, aren't you, to see Erik!"

"Yes, G-d willing, but you must forgive me!"

"Forgive you for what? Tell me where we're going and what has happened!"

Rosalie's eyes widened. "I just came from the temple, where I spend every Saturday night helping close the sabbath. I was on my way out, when who did I see but your Erik!"

"In your temple?" Meg asked, greatly confused. "Here, in Paris? How did he look?"

Rosalie bit her lower lip. "Well enough, at least on the outside."

Meg forced herself to take a deep breath. Having known Rosalie since she was a little girl, she tried seeing past her flair for exaggeration and grasped her hand. "What do you mean, 'at least on the outside?"

"You'll know when you see him—"

"That is if the police have whisked him away by now," Meg said cynically. "They have spies everywhere."

"But _he's_ the spy!" Rosalie gasped, "and this wasn't police business. Why would _they_ want him anywhere near a temple? No, something else is going on, something even they don't know about, for he and Rabbi Daniel were acting like spies I tell you!" 

"Rabbi Daniel?"

"Our new rabbi, though I'm not so sure he's a real rabbi after all, unless only part of the time! We suspected something was different about _him_ when he started disappearing for days at a time, and tonight I found him lingering in the sanctuary long after everyone else left. Then lo and behold in sneaks your Erik, so I hid in the closet and overheard them talking about some kind of secret mission!"

Meg rubbed her temples, feeling a migraine beginning to come on. "Rosalie, if you're thinking of interrupting whatever they are doing it's useless. The police know everything, and are unwilling to let anyone else know a thing."

"Unfortunately, that is not entirely true," Rosalie sighed, a guilty expression on her face.

Meg stared at her a moment, sensing her godmother knew more than she had previously shared. As she eyed her more suspiciously the scattered pieces of a puzzle began to come together in her mind. "Strangely enough," she began, releasing Rosalie's hand to sit back in her seat, "today I heard a rumor about Erik being injured the night I left Brussels."

"A rumor? From whom?"

Meg paused for her own dramatic effect. "I always thought it strange that neither Maman nor I have seen much of you or Jean in all this time…why do you keep asking for my forgiveness?"

Rosalie grabbed her hand. "Marguerite, you know we would never do anything to harm you, nor would we to the man you married…it was only supposed to have been temporary, and they kept insisting that your safety was of utmost importance."

"Rosalie, if Erik was truly injured he was never safe at all!" she said despite Rosalie's obvious distress. "You know I love you and Jean dearly and I'll forgive whatever you might have done, but if you are taking me anywhere near Erik you must tell me everything, right now!"

Rosalie swallowed and nodded. "All right, but only because you guessed it yourself and because of what I sensed tonight about him." 

"What has happened to Erik?" she asked, half afraid of the answer.

Rosalie leaned closer, gripping her hands. "He needs you, cherie, now more than ever!"

_**Erik touched the dusty keys**_ of the old upright piano, staring blankly at the faded wallpaper as he listened to their individual tones. The room was large but sparsely furnished, warmed by a coal furnace that kept away dampness and mold. After returning to the synagogue and sharing a simple meal and a half hour's study with Daniel, they had come down here to review the signal system and tunnel network. After another hour he admitted to being too tired to complete the tour, but Daniel had indicted the route which ended beneath the stables where he kept Prince. He had restating his permission to bring Meg here should that become necessary, then left him to test the only piano he could play without being heard. By now Erik knew that Daniel was already on his way to his parents' apartment down the street.

Lowering his head he sighed, feeling the weight of loneliness even more intensely than he had in the past. It made him more claustrophobic than the narrow passageway he traveled earlier that day just to catch a glimpse of his wife. And since then he could not get the sight of her out of his mind. Though angry and hurt by her desertion, it had still taken all his strength to remain hidden and apart from her. He remembered Pieter's counsel about man and wife joining to become one in soul and spirit, and found that this was indeed true. This was supported by many biblical references which he recalled with added clarity. 

"...a man shall cleave to his wife, and they two shall be one flesh," he whispered, trailing the fingers of his left hand over the keys. "So then they are no more two, but one flesh. What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder."1

Those final words hung as if suspended before him, urging him to obey that injunction even if it meant disobeying Leger's or even Raoul's orders. He used them to justify his behavior at the opera house today, as well as the other plans he'd already set in motion. He could not be sure that Meg would attach to them the same importance, especially now. He had never been a patient man nor a selfless one, but now he desperately needed to be both. With great effort he resisted the tide of despair and self pity threatening to pull him back under their power, and instead focused upon his next move: releasing his frustration by playing.

Spreading his fingers into position, he touched the opening chords of his favorite concerto and began to execute the stanzas. As he did so he heard them quite differently, feeling distaste for the music which had once given him such pleasure. He needed the practice but as the music echoed through the chambers of his mind he felt strangely detached from it, as if he was not the one playing it. Finally lifting his hands, he glanced up at the pile of sheet music stacked on the top and reached for it, sifting cautiously through each composition until something caught his attention. Pulling out a bound volume of liturgy music, he opened it and studied the notes on the first page. Placing the book upon the stand he leafed through the pages, beginning to hear the tones in his mind. They were similar to what he had heard the first night he'd come here, and below the melody line were the handwritten words in the Hebrew language. Leaning back, he began to play what he read, grateful for the gift of sight reading he had been given since he was a child.

The tuning of the instrument was not exact but the beautiful, mellow tone of the piano was fully expressed in this music, rather than the concerto. It surprised him, but he continued through the first third of volume, immersing himself in the sad but beautiful music. At one point he rested his hands upon his thighs and sat staring at the music, comparing the minor tones and finding them vaguely familiar. Where had he heard these chords before? As he closed his eyes he prayed to remember.

Tentatively touching a complex chord with each hand, he experimented with them, finding their discordance strangely alluring. He was immediately transported back to his vision, making the connection. His eyes shot open and he started to play the music from memory, his eyes comparing it with that of the printed music. The music had an ancient sound and structure, yet it was complex and matched the heavenly music he'd heard while lying close to death. He played on, experimenting and meshing the two forms together in an effort to reproduce the music that had haunted him ever since. The chords were constructed with multiple tones, he discovered, yearning to orchestrate them in order to do them justice. He stopped and got up, opening the bench to find more music, as well as writing equipment and a stack of blank paper. All this he pulled out as he seated himself again and scratched out several lines of melody for different instruments, copying what filled his mind. Suddenly energized, he laughed as he remembered his commission to publish this music to the world, his eyes streaming from the tears falling down his cheeks. Ignoring them, he stared through the ceiling as he fingered the chords once again.

"Give me more," he whispered, closing his eyes and playing as he waited. "Give me your music, as you promised…"

Something constricted within his chest, a warmth that felt like warm oil spread over his heart and flowing throughout his body. He lifted the toes of his boots from the pedals and stopped, laying a hand over his heart and suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. A sweet presence filled him and the room and he began to weep, his chest tight with emotion. Gripping the frame of the piano, he resisted the urge to pray for his Meg. Shaking his head, he groaned at the pain of their separation.

"Don't make me face it," he gasped even as deep sobs began to be wrenched from him. "Please—"

_I am the LORD, your healer…  
_  
He cried to be spared his pain, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I cannot bear it," he choked.

_I hold you in my right hand—_

"I have tried to accept my sad state," he gasped, shaking his head.

_Come to me; I will strengthen you, and give you rest…_

Lifting his head, he breathed out the depth of his anger and grief, confessing his sins of unforgiveness and praying for Meg. "But why did you give her to me?" he sobbed, resting his head upon the ledge as he pounded the keys. The crashing chords echoed harmlessly off the insulated walls until he laid both arms along the stand, scattering the printed sheets as he buried his face against his arms and sobbed until he felt wrung out. All the emotion flowed away from him and he felt empty but finally at peace. Then the voice came to him again, from the center of his own being.

_You have not lost her.  
_  
He opened his eyes and stared at the wood, moistening his lips as he tried to speak. "But I cannot reach her."

I will make a way…

Slowly pulling himself up, Erik nodded and gently touched the keyboard. "All right," he sighed raggedly, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes. "Then tell me what to do."

_**Rosalie turned **_with a guilty expression on her face, slowly lowering her hand from the knocker. "They must have left, though we drove as fast as we could."

"He never seems to be in one place too long," Meg sighed, walking down the stairs dejectedly. She stopped at the bottom and glanced up at the solitary window overlooking them, feeling somehow as if they were being watched. _Why would Erik come here? _she wondered, reassuring herself that the room behind the panes was dark and only reflected the distant lights of the city. Reaching for the handle of the coach, she opened the door and waited.

Signaling to her footman, Rosalie climbed in before her and they started on their way back, each lost in their own thoughts. On the way here Rosalie had explained her part in deceiving both her and Erik at Leger's request, at least until tonight. The telling relieved her somewhat, but also angered her that the law would play so forceful a role in so personal a relationship. As she gazed out the window at the assign streets, she sensed Rosalie's gaze fixed upon her. But she closed her eyes, feeling exhausted and more despairing than ever.

"Please say something, Marguerite." 

Opening her eyes and turning her head, Meg stared at her. "What do you want me to say?"

"That you understand?" Rosalie offered, "or that you forgive us?"

Meg leaned forward. "I don't understand how you could have gone back to Brussels to see him without letting me know!" she choked. "What must he have thought, seeing you and not me?"

"It was hardly easy!" Rosalie sobbed. "I had to look into those eyes of his and try to lie! And the worst part of it was, he seemed to believe me!"

"Why would Leger allow you to see him, and not me?"

"Because I meant nothing to him, nor was I in any danger," Rosalie reasoned. "Furthermore, as a surgeon's wife is appears perfectly natural for me to visit Jean's patients."

Meg felt her eyes flood with tears and looked away. "And all that time I blamed him for not coming after me!"

Rosalie moved to the same seat and reached for her hand. "You and I are so much alike, cherie—

both romantics, both too emotional. We want our men to scale mountains and break down walls to come for us jus to prove their love! Unfortunately it is only that way in fairy tales."

"You're right," Meg admitted tiredly. "I did want him to come after me, and I've been angry all this time because he did not, even though it would have put his parole in jeopardy."

Rosalie reached out to touch her cheek. "Could it be that he might feel the same way?"

Meg stared at her in shock. "But surely he knew I was not allowed!"

"That wouldn't stop him from wanting it nevertheless, just as you did," Rosalie said wisely. "And do not forget, that you were the first to run away."

"I was upset, and it did not help that we all had to watch him pursue Christine, and she wasn't even his wife!"

Rosalie sat back, her expression hardening. "Do you truly wish him to treat you as he did Christine? Why would he, when she rejected him?"

"But he loved her, and that was how he expressed it!"

"I do not think that was real love, Marguerite, and look what trouble ensued! Wouldn't you rather he learn from experience and adjust himself accordingly?"

"I don't know what I expect or want!" Meg said in exasperation.

"Then don't expect him to know!"

_Assume nothing…_ Meg frowned, remembering the joke she and Erik had tossed back and forth when they were at the parish. They had said it to each other, and now as she stared at Rosalie he felt even more confused and helpless.

"May I say something in all honesty, from one married woman to another?" Rosalie offered despite her starting to protest. "Erik seemed very dejected earlier tonight, but that could be a good sign."

"Why could it?"

"Because it means he is miserable without out you, and will be until you have both reconciled," she said with a widening smile.

Meg stared at her a moment and then laughed, shaking her head. "I think the real romantic is sitting right here with me in this coach, but go on!

"Go after him, when you find him! Throw yourself at him, tell him that you love him and cannot live without him," Rosalie advised. "Is it not true?"

Meg nodded. "With all my heart, but—"

"Not another word," Rosalie ordered, holding up her hand. "Now that we have broken the rules, we shall go forward and try to fix this mess."

"But how?"

"If your marriage is at stake, we shall think of something—just remember that love conquers all, cherie!"

_**With a trained eye Leger studied Raoul de Chagny**_ as if seeing him for the first time. The young count was speaking quietly with his wife, and judging by the way his fingers tapped the arm of his chair while he did so, it was clear that he had something to hide. Probably even more than he had just learned, Leger decided. Now, after being forced to wait for them a half hour, this meeting was about to start, so he cleared his throat.

"There was a disruption at the opera yesterday," he announced without prelude, noting the pause in their muted conversation. Christine looked up, her eyes widening as Raoul chuckled nonchalantly. 

"Really?" he replied, glancing at Gilbert accusingly. "I thought your men were handling security there, instead of following every move my staff and I make."

Pinning him with a pointed stare, Leger leaned forward. "Your _staff_ would be sitting in my jail if their most recent victim would only change his mind and file charges." He did all he could to keep from smiling at the slight frown this afforded the young man.

"He wouldn't dare," Christine whispered, startling them all. To cover her mistake she lowered her gaze and picked at an imaginary spot of lint on her gown. Leger took note of the tightening of her lips as an indication of her nervousness.

"Unfortunately that seems to be the case, at least for now," he warned, nodding to the clerk by Gilbert's side who was busy recording the conversation.

"As I have said before I must do what is necessary to protect my wife," Raoul insisted.

Leger turned his attention to Christine. "Have you felt as if your safety was threatened, Countess?"

She looked up, her expression blank. "My safety?" she repeated, eyes darting to her husband. "I must admit that being on stage does carry some element of risk, Inspector."

"The victim was attacked in the men's lavatory," Leger emphasized, noting the discomfort in her face as she faced him once again. "In light of past experience, it was reasonable to assume it would directly impact my safety."

Raoul smiled at him in innocence, reached blindly for her hand. "Really, Inspector, isn't this matter technically closed, as no charges have been filed?"

"Mon. Destler may not have done so," Leger said, lifting the document from his desk, "but our witness has."

Raoul glanced at the clock and sighed. "We haven't time to play guessing games, Inspector, so perhaps you might be frank about why you've hauled us in here, away from Sunday brunch."

Irritated but keeping his expression tight, Leger pushed back his chair and got up to come around his desk, where he sat on the edge and eyed Raoul. "When you assaulted Mon. Destler in Brussels there was someone present who witnessed every gory detail. This witness has now come forward to positively identify your two men as the perpetrators of his beating."

"That is ridiculous," Raoul spat. "Hearsay, I assume."

Christine looked up at Leger with a worried frown. "I heard about a boy becoming hysterical at yesterday's audition," she said quietly. "I was told he is quite young."

Leger leaned toward her. "Why don't you tell me everything, in your own words, Countess?" he encouraged. "Beginning with your trip to Brussels—"

"Leave her out of this," Raoul ordered, picking up his hat and gloves with one hand. "In fact you may speak to my lawyer tomorrow, on a regular business day. Let's go, darling."

"Any day is a day for police business," Leger warned, standing up. "And I will detain both of you until I learn every detail concerning your business with Mon. Destler."

"We have no _business_ with him and prefer it that way!" Raoul retorted. "I would think you realized that by now, Inspector."

Leger handed him the document and held out a hand, indicating he should sit back down. "An eight year old boy witnessed the beating you ordered and watched, and his parents will be happy to testify how difficult his life has been since that night. Aside from that we have in our possession several sworn statements from other witnesses shared graciously by Brussels Police. Added to that is the evidence we have gathered concerning your misrepresenting yourselves and abusing public telegraph communications to interfere in Mon. Destler's personal affairs—"

"What?" Christine gasped, looking at her husband accusingly.

Raoul waved a hand of dismissal. "Why would either of us waste our time in such an endeavor?" he breathed.

"which constitutes libel, and we have only begun to address your list of suspicious activity."

"Speak to my lawyer tomorrow morning," Raoul suggested.

"Why don't we bring him in today?" Leger said, waving to one of his men to summon the man. "His fee will no doubt be higher on a Sunday but then I am sure you can afford it."

As the man moved to leave Christine shot to her feet. "Never mind!" she objected, facing her husband with an angry look. "I cannot go through this anymore, Raoul!"

"Don't worry, Christi," he soothed, reaching up toward her only to find his hand batted away. 

Turning to Leger and lifting her chin, Christine met his waiting gaze. "You win, Inspector—I will tell you everything that I know."

"Thank you," he stated, going back around his desk to sit.

"I am through living like this," she informed Raoul even as he put a hand to his brow. "He's right, Raoul, and he has proof. We did all we could to protect ourselves, but having him beaten…and now a young boy is involved—things have gotten out of control, and they need to stop."

Raoul looked up. "Aren't you forgetting the premiere coming up in a few weeks?" he warned. Do you think he will miss that, the perfect chance to get back at us?"

"He's not going to get back at us!" she argued. "Why can't you see that?"

"All I can see is that as long as he is anywhere near you, the possibility exists!"

"I think you both need to consider the present state of affairs," Leger stated. "Mon. Destler turned himself, put himself in danger to help us arrest two criminals, is currently on probation and has done nothing to indicate any ill will toward you, quite the opposite in fact. And that is without mentioning his royalties being diverted to Opera accounts as well as his generous financial gift."

"How did you know about that?" Raoul objected as Christine looked away.

"That was a wedding gift."

"Which your husband deposited in a hidden account," Leger accused, noting the disapproving glare she directed toward her husband. "And which we traced some time ago. In view of all he has done, we cannot help but wonder what more the man could do beyond what he has already done."

"He can leave us alone!" Raoul objected even as Christine advanced upon him, hands on her hips.

"Your jealousy is unfounded," she warned. "We broke all ties the night of the fire, and you were there to witness everything! You cannot keep punishing him!"

"Christi, the man has had a hold on you since you were a child—"

"But I am no longer a child so stop treating me like one! He has changed, can you not accept that? And now he is married to Meg, a marriage her own mother arranged and approves of even to this day, no thanks to our interference!"

Raoul glanced at Leger. "We did it for them, too, for Marguerite and Mme. Giry," he explained, turning back to Christine. "You said you wanted to keep Marguerite away from him, for her own good, Christi!"

Christine put a hand to her forehead. "We did what we could, but it's no use. We must leave them to their own choices, and instead live our own lives in peace," she stated, looking directly at Leger. "If such a thing is even possible now."

"That depends," Leger told her, turning his attention to Raoul. "If I were you I would listen to her," he said quietly.

Frowning, Raoul got up and began to pace, pausing to stare accusingly at the clerk. When he was ignored he continued pacing with one hand framing his chin. "All right…_if_ I admit to having taken part in all this, assume responsibility for the matter in Brussels and discharge the services of my men, may I count on police protection through the week of the premiere?"

"You may, but you must cooperate with my men and stop harassing Mon. Destler and his wife. If you do not they have been advised to file a restraining order against you or whatever agents you may employ for the task."

Raoul shifted his gaze to Christine, who held her breath. "All right," he agreed, meeting Leger's stare. "I will do as you ask, on all counts."

"Good," Leger barked, "and you will resign your position on the Opera board after you vote to transfer all royalties back to Mon. Destler."

Grimacing, Raoul nodded. "Agreed." 

Leger pulled a few papers from his file and looked up, gesturing for them both to sit. "For now, Count, concentrate on assuming your role of Don Juan," he suggested blandly, watching Christine reach for her husband's hand. "That will be no easy task, but you should know that the City has contracted the services of the military for security during opening week, and our department will continue working closely with Opera security."

"That does set my mind at ease," Raoul nodded, holding Christine's hand while she smiled with relief.

"I should warn you though that Mon. Destler will be making a brief appearance the first night," Leger told them, "but only for the intermission."

"What?" Raoul shouted, leaning back in his chair at the blow. "Why would you allow such a thing, after all we've just discussed?"

"But—he wouldn't," Christine gasped worriedly.

"He has his reasons," Leger explained, glancing between them. "If he does not, the city will be in an uproar."

"This is insane!" Raoul gasped, running a hand through his hair. "You've all gone mad!"

"He couldn't have agreed to that," Christine choked in disbelief.

"He has no choice—it was made a condition of his probation at Judge Miller's request," Leger explained.

"But the people will tear us all apart to get to him!" she objected. "It's too dangerous!"

"There will be rioting if he does not appear!" Leger challenged. "Don't you realize that once you unmasked him in public you not only humiliated him enough to leave, but you also created the perfect hero! Empathy burns brighter for him every day, and the outcry for his return is daily news."

"So the police are going to give the public what they want?" Raoul sneered. "That is suicide!"

Leger sighed in frustration. "If you reopen the Opera with _Don Juan_, which by the way was an immediate success, you will only make the public hungry for more. You are going to have to give them the phantom. If you've been reading the papers all this time that should come as no surprise to you."

"The papers don't represent the entire city," Raoul defended.

"Then only the majority," Leger argued. "And I can assure you that you will not get long into _Don Juan_ before the public will demand his appearance. That is why Mon. Destler's need for protection far outweighs yours."

"…we did this to him," Christine whispered dazedly, shaking her head. "We drew him out, forced him to expose himself." She focused her attention upon Raoul. "The public will never anyone replace him, not after they've heard him, and seen him."

"Will they even know I'm not him with the mask? Raoul objected. "I've worked hard training my voice all this time to even outshine him."

Christine looked away. "They'll know…"

Obviously insulted, Raoul gripped the arms of his chair. "What if he refuses to come that night, or if someone prevents him? Perhaps we should instead assume that the performance will satisfy the public."

Leger shook his head. "He cannot refuse: he's bound to it, as we all are. And we will ensure his safe arrival."

"But what will he do, if he makes an appearance at intermission?" Christine wanted to know. "And what will we do, while he is onstage?"

Leger frowned. "That is yet to be determined…I'm afraid we are going to have to trust him to do the right thing, and to respond accordingly to whatever the public demands."

"Trust him?" Raoul complained, "surely you jest, Inspector!"

"I am being completely serious," Leger replied. "Mon. Destler has the ability to attract and hold the public's interest and loyalty—let's just hope he has what it takes to restore things back to their proper order, as he apparently has done before."

"The master performer," Christine whispered, nodding imperceptibly to Leger. Turning to Raoul, she placed her hand on his arm. "I trust Inspector Leger, Raoul; we should do exactly as he asks."

Raoul nodded unenthusiastically toward Leger. "I would rather trust _him_ than the phantom." 

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	46. Chapter 46 The Confrontation

_**Chapter 46 The Confrontation**_

Frustrated, Erik pursed his lips and leaned out from hiding just long enough to glance toward the place where Leger's men were supposed to be keeping watch. The air was unseasonably cold and damp, the moon swathed in clouds threatening rain. The large gang continued its way up the avenue, filling the night with shouts and raucous laughter. Ducking back into the shadows, he was thankful they had kept their distance from Notre Dame. The cathedral loomed over him and the rest of the city like a dark sentinel of righteous indignation. Nevertheless, the natives were restless, further setting his nerves on edge.

"Don't do that again!" Aaron whispered, temporarily revealing his position at the opposite entrance, though it was much too dark to see even his silhouette.

"Where are they?" he shot back, shivering involuntarily.

As he expected, there was no response. After a moment he straightened from his crouching position in an effort to restore feeling to his feet and ankles. They had held their positions for over half an hour, worrying if Daniel would even appear. Glancing over toward the place where Aaron hid, he then swept his gaze up and over the triumphant statue of Ecclesia, the Church. Shivering again, he shrugged deeper into his coat for warmth, envisioning the statue beneath which he waited. Synagogia represented Judaism, her bonds and blindfolded grief still imprinted in his memory, more troubling each time he saw it. Now, in the final minutes of a night filled with civil unrest and reports of another attack in the Jewish quarter, it filled him with a sense of foreboding. To make things worse, a spurt of rain hit the side of the cathedral, ricocheting onto his shoulder. Shifting further back into his hiding place, he threw Aaron another glance, his gaze snagging on a sudden movement just beyond the adjoining building.

Now on full alert, he stared at the place where he'd seen it, startled when he saw a figure run crouched over from that building to the brush. He signaled Aaron, his eyes focused upon the second figure just as the first leapt from cover to cover, heading in their direction. Flexing his toes inside his boots he hoped he would be able to sprint away if the need arose. With his jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering, he uncrossed his arms from hugging his ribs and rose to half his height.

_Finally,_ he rejoiced, watching them closely. By the time the last figure slipped safely into Aaron's hiding place he turned to survey their surroundings. At the edge of the square he saw another group of a half dozen people came into view, singing in drunken disharmony as they passed along its edge. Grimacing in distaste, he stretched out his hand and began to feel his way along the wall toward the opposite entrance. Within minutes he slipped into the foyer and entered the far corner of sanctuary, keeping in a half crouch as he passed along the back row. They were waiting for him, sitting on the floor in the relative darkness. Slipping into the queue, he shivered involuntarily and bent down to one knee, nodding in greeting to each of them.

"Who chose this place?" a husky whisper broke the silence. It was a heavily accented but understandable question, Erik thought, glancing around.

"I did," Daniel whispered back as he flashed a smile. "Symbolic, don't you think?" he breathed, slapping a hand onto Erik's shoulder. "This is Giles, everyone...our phantom leader."

Reaching forward to shake all three hands, Erik leaned toward Daniel's ear. "You're late," he growled in a whisper.

Aaron snickered, shaking his head. "Better late than dead," he whispered back.

Erik met the uninformed smiles of the men who did not speak their language and nodded his head toward their planned exit.

"Jew and Christian at odds," Daniel whispered, smiling at the men himself. "One triumphant, the other oppressed, yet tonight the change begins."

Erik raised his brows in response. "Really? I didn't know you were a philosopher."

Daniel gazed toward the altar area. "No, a realist, and if we read the manual given by ha Shem we will see its prophecies come true."

"He means God," Aaron whispered to Erik, who nodded his understanding.

"What makes you think what we're doing will make a mark?" he whispered, taking up their earlier argument once again. It was one of the tactics they had agreed to should danger arise, and was designed to keep their charges from becoming alarmed. He only hoped the police would prove more capable protecting their escape than their arrival, during which he had nearly escaped a flying rock in a street fight.

"We have only one politician on our side," Aaron added, having been briefed on the dialog.

"Everything starts with one," Daniel whispered back, rising to his haunches and squeezing Erik's shoulder. "You of all people should know that, Giles."

"I know nothing, having been warped by spending too much time in my own company," he whispered back.

Aaron shoved an elbow into his side. "Bored with yourself, Giles?"

The others chortled quietly although it was obvious they understood little between the whispered translations they were given by their comrade.

Erik glanced toward the way he'd entered, feeling more and more uneasy. "You could say that."

At that moment the door behind them parted with a loud squeak and they fell silent. Tensing in alarm, they waited until Gilbert's head popped in, his hair and overcoat dripping from the rain. Though they could not see his face clearly, his size and posture identified him easily enough. Erik slowly breathed out, watching the detective wave them onward before going back out.

"Who was that?" one of the Russians whispered, his breath staggered with fear.

Waiting until the door closed and nothing further occurred, Erik frowned. "Our faithful detective," he whispered, half rising and gesturing for them to follow him. Keeping close to the rows of benches, he led them through the back of the sanctuary and out into the opposite corridor, his body tense with alarm. Nothing had gone as planned and despite Gilbert's signal he could not shake the feeling. Reaching the end of the corridor he held up a hand and waited, glancing around the corner. No one seemed to be about, so he crossed the distance to the doors and put his ear to the wood. Aaron slipped to his side next, watching him as he cracked open the door and peered out. Behind him he could hear to soft padding of their steps, coming to their side one by one.

Outside the rain had stopped again and the wind had risen, blowing past the full moon. Frowning at the brighter light, he studied the adjoining streets, hearing shouting off at a great distance but seeing no one. He slipped outside and moved quickly, keeping close to the walls of the cathedral until he reached the back section of the plaza. As the group followed him he gauged the perimeter and when he was sure it was safe ran across the open area and ducked behind the brush, panting into his collar to avoid making a cloud of steam with his breath. Another two minutes passed before one of the men slid into the bushes next to him, patting his back. Together they waited for the others to join them, finding the process slow and unnervingly risky.

_**Strangely ill at ease,**_ Meg slowed her steps when she saw the exit dripping rain in the pale moonlight. It was pouring down outside, puddling onto the cobblestones and forming a tiny stream that stretched into the tunnel and reached the toes of her boots. Dejected and weary from another late night spent in Erik's quarters, she knew she would not sleep that night even after gaining her own quarters. Heaving a sigh, she reviewed the past two days and had to conclude that they had been a waste.

She'd spent Sunday morning in frustrated pursuit of Raoul, eager to vent her anger upon him for what he had done to Erik. Finding his butler initially reluctant to divulge his whereabouts he eventually gave in after her performance of the crying, distraught wife she truly was. With a mighty sigh and the assurance that no one would overhear them he had whispered that Raoul and Christine had left for brunch at the best restaurant in the city, though he did not state the name. She had recovered quickly from her tears, smiled happily at him and shook his hand, then proceeded on to the only place he could have meant. It had taken a bribe to get their waiter to share the fact that they had left abruptly before finishing their meals, yet he insisted he knew nothing more. Her next stop was police headquarters, a place where they were no longer moved by her demands and tears. She was coolly informed that the inspector and his detectives were sequestered in a meeting and that she would need to come back on Monday. Upon her late return to the opera house the stable master freely shared with her the fact that Raoul and Christine had suddenly appeared and had him ready one of the coaches for a drive in the countryside. He had expressed some concern that still they had not returned, and she had left to rehearse with the request that he have a boy tell her immediately when they returned. But there had been no sign of them and it was assumed they took the coach home and would return it the next day.

Monday was busy with premiere rehearsals and her classes, but late in the day the boy had come with the note Raoul had sent to his stable master, excusing their keeping the coach another day while their own was being repaired. Frustrated and on edge, she had tipped him and asked to be informed of its return, but after waiting late into the night and finding herself unable to sleep, she had made her way down again to Erik's quarters to console herself.

"A drive in the countryside!" she whispered to the rain, standing in the cold and sure that Raoul and Christine were purposely avoiding her and everyone else at the opera, she tried to imagine enjoying such a simple pleasure as a ride in the coach with her own husband. Tightening her shawl around her shoulders for warmth, she tried picturing the happy couple out for a picnic or stroll in the late autumn leaves, but all she could see was Raoul's smug smile despite the crimes he had committed. "How romantic!" she choked bitterly.

Startled by the sound of a thump from just beyond the exit, she ducked into hiding and held her breath. She could see out as far as the great oak tree opposite the tunnel, and stared in that direction until she saw someone dart behind it from the nearest tree, bending out of hiding to pick up something from the ground.

_The shrine people!_ she realized, thinking to rush out in protest but deciding against it. After all, it might not be a woman, and when she saw the figure snatch up another article she concluded it was a burglar. Watching and realizing the exact moment when the burglar sensed her watching, she nearly cried out when they turned and ran into the tunnel, heading in her direction. She leapt out and swung her bag in defense, finding her mark.

"Oww!" a boy's voice cried out as he whirled to face her, holding his head. In the dim moonlight she judged him to be about 14 years of age, taller than she was, with dark luminous eyes that peered out from beneath his cap. His jacket shone with raindrops as he raised a pleading hand. "Don't hit me!" he cried, "I'm only trying to help you!"

Staring at him in disbelief, she swung her bag in warning. "Who are you?" she demanded, "and who asked for your help?"

"Name's Saul," he answered. "I'm from the parish—Aaron and Esther's nephew?"

"The parish?" she choked, dropping her bag although she did not remember him being so tall. "What on earth are you doing here?"

He nodded vigorously, his face split by a wide smile. "Remember me? I'm registered in the backstage crew. I was late for auditions, while you were busy with Joseph."

"You know Joseph?" she asked, suddenly remembering that Aaron had mentioned working with Erik. Surging toward him, she grabbed his sleeve. "Have you seen my husband? Do you work with him?"

"Oui, Madame—that is why I am here, to help you! I looked for your husband's quarters but got lost. I heard you yell at the women for coming here, the other day," he informed her, jostling his bag of shrine articles. "See? I've gone through them all but the only valuable thing was this," he said, holding out two small jeweled daggers. Extending one toward her, he waited while she glanced suspiciously at the loot. "Why would you want with those?"

He nodded toward the exit. "I'm going after them, and you can come with me—but we must hurry!"

"After who?" she cried, wondering why he would go after the shrine women. "I thought I scared them all off."

"Not the women, my uncle and Erik! They left an hour ago, but I know where they are going. You'll need a disguise, though," he warned, moving past her as he went further back into the tunnel. "We've made clothing storerooms for the homeless—you can look for something like I'm wearing and change in there, but we'll have to be quick!"

Wondering if she should believe him, she followed him to a door hidden in the wall. Opening it, he stepped inside and quickly lit a small lantern. It was a large room filled with barrels, each labeled according to its contents: trousers, shirts, coats… She met his expectant smile with a shocked expression. He was serious!

"This is crazy!" she objected, watching him lurch into action. He pried off the lid of a barrel and began to dig through men's trousers, holding up different sizes as he eyed her height. "The streets are not safe, and what if they don't come back this way?"

"You want to see him, don't you?" he hissed just above a whisper, tossing her a pair of trousers and moving on to another barrel. "I've heard them arguing about you, and my uncle agrees it isn't right to separate you! Erik even stood up to that official looking man whom the inspector brought down."

It didn't take long for him to convince her. She pulled off her shawl and bent to unlace her boots. "Erik has been here, with the police?"

"Of course—but they decided to ignore the old man in charge," Saul continued, leaving her to figure out the details. "After your husband left he told the inspector to let you be together, but they haven't let you, have they?"

"No, they have not, but what are they doing tonight, Saul? Do you know where they went? You must think it's dangerous, or you wouldn't be taking the daggers!"

She caught the jacket and shirt he tossed to her before he strode over to the hat rack. Quickly choosing one for her, he shoved it at her on his way to the door, where he stopped. "So are you coming with me?"

Pulling of her boot, she looked up. "Of course I am—now wait outside, I'll only be a minute or two! Oh, and leave me my dagger!"

_**Erik leaned closer**_ to Aaron as they gazed out at the gathering crowd spreading along the avenue. "Someone's still following us," he whispered, turning to smile back at the men they were to escort back to the tunnels. Both nodded and smiled nervously.

Aaron grunted softly. "Probably just part of Leger's group, but I think they are about to get busy with other things."

Erik turned back to study the crowd, grimacing when someone threw a lantern through a storefront window. The shouting, drunken revelry and shoving matches had quickly escalated into arguments and fistfights, now rocks and other objects were being thrown, vandalism and looting undoubtedly soon to follow. "It's not police," he insisted. "There are two of them; young, judging by the way they move."

"Probably just kids," Aaron reasoned, shifting uncomfortably as they watched for a break in the crowd through which to slip away. "Nothing to worry about."

"Probably not," Erik answered, patting Aaron's shoulder as he began to rise. "I'm not willing to risk it."

"I did have the feeling that we were being watched," Aaron sighed.

"You're in charge now, just in case I have to run after them," Erik stated. "Keep track of Daniel and the others—we don't want to disappoint the inspector."

Aaron nodded, glancing toward the opposite alley where they were waiting to meet. "I just hope they can keep up…meet us at the tunnel if you're delayed."

Erik nodded. "Give me a minute to double back before you move."

Aaron stared at the looting out along the street. "The police are spreading out…we're going to lose them."

"It's better that we split up then," Erik shook his head. "Meet them at the train station instead."

Aaron stretched out his hand. "Till we meet again…say a prayer for us."

"I have been," Erik admitted, "since before we left."

_**Meg grabbed Saul's arm,**_ her eyes on the gangs pouring into the street from the plaza. The fires were spreading, sending a thick cloud of smoke over the block. It floated into the small alley where they hid, making her throat burn. From a distance she could see Detective Gilbert divide his people into groups of two, gesturing silently from his position on the low roof opposite them. The group Saul said Erik and his uncle were in was still hidden from sight, held back in the shadows of the alley. She guessed they would be doing the same thing, diverted from their original plan by the will of the mob.

"We should go back," she finally decided, despite her desire to see Erik. "It's too dangerous."

"We have our daggers," Saul objected, his eyes held by the violent scene unfolding before them.

Sensing his fascination with the action, Meg pulled at his coat. "Now, Saul—we can catch up with them somewhere else."

"Wait—" he hissed, pointing to another alleyway. "I think I see them!"

Following the direction he indicated, she stared through the smoke and darkness. "Where?" she whispered just before she something move. There were two figures pressed low against the wall, just beyond the reach of the lamplight. One of them straightened to a crouch and moved away, while the other retreated further back into the darkness. The sound of breaking glass grew louder, closer to where they were hidden. Saul got to his feet and took her arm, leading her away.

"They're moving on," he breathed. "Let's go."

She nodded, staying close to him as they edged out of hiding, quickly running in the opposite direction of the mob. They traveled along several blocks before a group of men burst out of one building, shouting drunkenly to each other.

"Hey boys!" they called. "Wanna join us?"

Saul gripped her hand and yanked, breaking into a run and pulling her along. Meg stumbled after him, horrified at the sound of pounding of boots pursuing them.

"After them!" someone shouted, and her heart leapt into her throat. Running as fast as she could, she felt Saul release her hand as he sprinted across the street. People were streaming toward the fire, running against their path. She watched someone stumble into Saul, grabbing him as the men behind them ran over. Frustrated by so many people pushing past her, she searched the crowd until she spotted him. He stood encircled by three others, one of whom held out a bottle toward him. He took it, his eyes meeting hers as he yelled for her to run. One of them turned, spotted her and jogged toward her, his face lit with interest. That was when she began to run.

Dodging the crowd, she fought to breathe, glancing back to see Saul drinking from the bottle. The one chasing her was starting to catch up, making her run faster. Beginning to panic, she held up her arms against the crowd, shoving her way through. Finding herself forced to the walkway, she was shoved into the iron gate lining the thoroughfare. Grasping the bars she tried to catch her breath, watching the one chasing her lose his way. With a gasp of relief she pulled away from the gate only to be grabbed from behind. Screaming with all her might, she knew Saul would not hear her. As she was dragged between two buildings her scream was cut off by a gloved hand clamping over her mouth. He lifted and carried her backward into the alley as she kicked and screamed, her heart pounding in fear. It was as if she was reliving the night of her attack all over again, only this time she began to pray.

Pulling at the strong arm imprisoning her, she began to take note of whatever details she could. His arm crushed her ribs against a rock hard chest, yet one well placed kick made him grunt and bend slightly. Tearing at his arm with her nails she nevertheless found herself carried far back into the darkness until her turned and planted her against a wall, trapping her. She bent her head to bite his hand but his glove was too thick. He wrestled with her wordlessly, and though she fought him he was too strong for her. After a moment she wilted, her voice a pitiful wheeze behind his gloved hand. It was dark but she could see the whites of his eyes behind the facemask he wore.

"Good," he whispered, loosening the hand over her mouth just enough to allow her to breathe more easily. "Now tell me why you were following us," he hissed, shifting her sideways as she kicked her boots upward. Pressing closer, he trapped her lower body against the wall with his. Her head pushed backward, shoving her cap toward her nose. She protested against the glove, sounding pitiful even to herself.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he panted, glancing toward the mouth of the alley. The crowded street was thinning out, she saw from the corner of her eye. He looked back at her. "Just tell me why you were following me—was it to pick my pockets? Knock me in the head? If you promise not to scream I'll take my hand away."

She nodded eagerly, and when he complied she wheezed and gasped, her hat slipping even lower and covering half her face. "They've got Saul!" she croaked, her throat burning from the smoke. Trying to tug free, she nodded toward the street. "Got to help him!"

The glove pressed over her mouth again. "Don't play games with me!" he whispered, shaking her. "Your _friend_ left you behind to fend for yourself—now tell me why the two of you were following us!"

Her mind stilled and her thoughts focused upon his words as she stared up at him. _Following us?_ Running her eyes over him, she struggled to see him clearly, sensing details about him she'd not noticed before. When she did not answer leaned closer, towering over her with a frustrated groan. And that was when she caught his scent. Tipping her head back to push the cap higher, she stared up at him, tightening her fingers around his wrists.

"It's me!" she gasped, her voice muffled by his hand. Beginning to jump up and down, she felt his hand fist at the center of her man's oversized coat. "Erik—it's _me_!"

He stiffened, tightening his grip on her. "You mistake me for someone else," he whispered dangerously.

"It's Meg!" she croaked, trying to shake him even as he began to relax his hold on her. He stared at her ominously, then reached up to push back her hat. He stared at her, his expression registering shock.

How could she not have recognized him? "We were following you, but Saul—"

He snatched off her hat and her hair fell loose from the bun she had wound it into. He released her so abruptly she stumbled for balance. "Erik—"

"Are you _mad_?" he demanded, his eyes flashing with anger. "What are you doing out here—dressed like that?" he gasped, his eyes running down her person as she leaned against the wall.

"It was the only way," she admitted, cowering beneath his angry glare. "I've spent weeks trying to find you—"

"Don't _tell_ me you've followed me before!" he railed, lifting a hand to his head.

"I could accuse you of the same thing!" she shot back, pulling away from the wall. "I know you were there, at the auditions! You gave Joseph a—"

They were interrupted by shouting and arguing as a large group of people entered the alley, headed directly toward them. Turning to stare at each other Meg looked to him for guidance, knowing how dangerous their situation had become. Another glance toward them told her they were women, but their size and voices indicated otherwise, and soon they would discover their presence. Erik had turned his attention to them, giving her the opportunity to rush toward him and clutch his coat. Without turning his head he scooped her up against his chest, lifting a hand to pull off his hooded mask. He stuffed it into his pocket and turned all his attention upon her, gripping her chin and bending his head toward her.

Her heart skipped a beat as his mouth fastened over hers for a deep, passionate kiss. She curled her fingers into his coat to keep from losing her balance as his arm lowered to her hips and he pulled her against him. Trembling with fear and confusion, she began to realize what he was doing—giving them an excuse for being alone in the alley. They were coming closer, so she smoothed her hands up his chest and closed her eyes, returning his kiss. She could feel the desire in him beneath his anger, even when he broke contact only to turn his head and recapture her lips. He kissed her with hungry desperation, gasping with satisfaction when she wound her arms around his shoulders. At that very moment they were spotted, triggering off a chorus of protest, mocking, laughter and lewd comments.

To his credit Erik paid no attention but purposefully slid his hand down her neck and into the front of her jacket, his touch igniting a fire she could not withstand. Climbing higher into his arms, she lifted her hands to caress his neck and head, all the while drinking eagerly from his lips. Lonely weeks spent grieving for him faded into distant memory and she came alive in his arms, and judging by his soft groan of pleasure, he was similarly affected.

"Come on, _ladies_," a deep voice called out as heels clicked over the cobblestones in passing. "Let's leave the _boys_ some privacy…"

This prompted another round of hooting and laughter as they continued on their way and disappeared around the corner. Erik froze in place and she stopped massaging his neck. The only sound heard was their labored breathing, and after a moment he lifted his head to stare down at her. His eyes glinted like diamonds in the brighter moonlight, his breath panted softly against her cheek. Then he took her hands and pulled them down, stepping away from her with an expression of remorse. She caught his sleeves and held on, noting the way his eyes lingered like a caress upon her lips before his head snapped up and turned away. He closed his eyes tightly as his breathing slowed.

"Erik," she breathed, too stunned by the passion of his kiss to know what to say. He had responded to her, and if she was any judge of desire she would have to conclude that he'd wanted her just as badly as she'd wanted him. She watched him run a hand through his hair as he turned and stalked off. Rushing after him, she soon found it difficult to keep up with his pace. "Erik—wait!"

He turned his head just enough to glare at her dismissively. "Not here!"

Tears of rejection and frustration flooded her eyes but jogged after him through a series of complicated turns of some predetermined route, entering even more threatening areas of the city from which she knew she would never find her way back. He kept up a punishing pace, never once looking back to see how hard she worked just to keep him in sight. Angry and hurt, she charged after him, reaching out to grab at the back of his coat.

"Slow down!" she demanded, yanking as forcefully as she could. "I can't keep up"

"I'm sure you'll manage!" he shot back, shrugging from her grasp and increasing his pace.

Shooting a defiant glare at his retreating back, she expelled a hoarse groan of protest, but her voice carried no further than one step ahead. Her heart pounded and her lungs burned, and when he turned a corner far ahead she stopped abruptly, bending over in an attempt to catch her breath. Placing her hands upon her thighs she gulped in the cold air, catching the odor of rotting garbage which seemed to emanate from the wooden crates stacked along the wall of yet another alley. Suddenly she cared nothing for her own safety but only for a chance to rest and be free of his cruel indifference. Let him go on without her, she decided, leaving her alone to figure out where on earth she was.

Then suddenly he was there without warning, embracing and lifting her. She grabbed his upper arms as he turned and planted her down upon a railing she had not even noticed. Her bottom hit the cold iron just as she began to shove him away. But he stepped between her knees and grabbed her waist.

"Let me go!" she demanded, pounding his chest in a rage.

"Be quiet unless you want a repeat performance of what just happened!" he warned, his voice dangerously low.

She slumped over in defeat without even a care of falling off her perch, but he caught her under the arms and eased her up. Swiping away silent tears she avoided his gaze. "That won't be _necessary_!" she croaked.

"Good!" he mocked, ignoring her punch to his shoulder.

"And you don't have to be so angry with _me_—"

"I am furious with you!" he hissed, gripping her waist to steady her. She glared at him but to her surprise he closed his eyes and lowered his head. It seemed as if he was counting to himself before he looked up, pinning her with his gaze. "Who is Saul?" he demanded harshly.

"None of your business!" she defended, caring nothing for the fact that she sounded like a child. He thought she was one anyway, according to his telegram. Unwilling distracted by the fascinating curve of his lips, she snapped her attention back to a warning look. "Let me go," she ordered, twisting against his hold.

"You _made_ it my business by following me—who is he?"

Suddenly guilty for following a boy on a foolish errand, she looked away.

"Who is he?"

"Aaron's nephew!" she admitted, hearing his muttered expletive as he stepped back, keeping a hand grasped in the side of her coat.

"He's just a boy!" he protested, obviously troubled by the knowledge of his identity. "You had better pray that he's safe—"

"He's not a boy, but a very determined young man—"

"Whom you had no business bringing along with you!"

"_I _didn't bring him—he was going after you anyway and thought I might want to see _you_! So it was obviously _his _mission, not mine!"

"But why would you _do _that? And have you lost your mind—"

"It was the only way to see you!"

Looking momentarily stunned, but shook his head. "So you decided to go along with him instead of dissuading him, at this hour, in the middle of the night?"

"I had to see you—"

"Why is that?" he demanded, releasing her so abruptly she gripped the railing to keep from falling off. He took a backward step and spread his arms wide. "Why now, after all this time, and on a night of rioting—"

"I had to tell you I'm sorry!" she croaked back, her voice breaking. To her horror tears filled her eyes but she blinked them away, holding his intense and tortured stare.

"For what?" he choked, "_leaving me?_"

"I didn't leave you!" she cried, reaching toward him but he was too far away. Just as she was about to jump down he lunged toward her and scooped her off the railing. Again he carried her across the alley and planted her down on the top stair of a boarded up entry. The change in position brought their eyes nearly level.

"Your telegrams said otherwise," he mocked.

"I didn't send any telegrams, but you did, urging me to "grow up Marguerite," or my favorite one stating in so many words the obvious: "I'm too busy to be bothered with you, Marguerite!"

"I sent no telegrams, just note after note—"

"Like the one left on the backstage floor?"

"No, posted to the Opera House—where else?"

"I never got anything but summons to meet you at Leger's—"

"Why would I _do_ that—"

"Regardless of all that there was no need for me to write you, not after I explained everything in my letter, which you _ignored_!"

He shook his head. "I received no letter!"

"I left it for you at the hotel desk, of course you did!" she insisted. "I told you about meeting Christine, and that I needed time alone to think, but how would you notice when you were too busy working!"

He shook his head slowly. "No letter--and I wasn't working."

She tightened her fists in the front of his coat. "Don't tell me you didn't get it—"

"I didn't get it!"

"I even bribed the clerk!"

"Prove it."

Flustered, she knew she couldn't, then she thought of Jean and Rosalie, her face brightening. "I have a witness—Rosalie!"

His eyes narrowed, dropped to her lips and snapped back up. "You had better not be lying, at least not this time—"

"Hey! Be quiet down there—people are trying to sleep!" someone yelled, slamming a window down.

Erik gripped her hand. "We will continue this discussion later," he said under his breath, tugging her down the stairs after him as he stalked somewhat less hurridely out of the alley.

c. 2008 by Christine Levitt


	47. Chapter 47 The Invitation

_**Chapter 47 The Invitation**_

Nearing the entrance to the tunnels they heard heated whispers echoing toward them and slowed their pace. Erik threw her a downward glance, nodding for her to precede him. As she did so her ankle turned on the stones, forcing the hidden dagger to jab into her skin. It was sheathed but a burden she could not rid herself of without him seeing, she sensed that if he knew she carried a weapon he would get angry all over again. Holding her head high she endured the discomfort, determined to avoid anything that might risk losing what little ground they had gained with that kiss.

On their long journey back she'd studied him covertly, finally coming to the conclusion that despite his anger and lack of trust he still felt something for her. Though it was obvious he had kissed her only to prevent that gang from taking interest in them, his hungry possessiveness was unmistakable. He may have done so only to protect her, but once their lips touched the passion between them had been rekindled. And, in her mind, if that was all they had left with which to rebuild their marriage, then so be it. Now, as they approached the two men standing inside the tunnel, she breathed a sigh of relief at recognizing Aaron and Saul, who had thankfully made it back safely. When Erik came up to her side and stopped she made it a point to move closer to him and try to make the best of a bad situation.

Aaron turned his attention from his nephew to clamp a hand onto Erik's arm, nodding to her in greeting. His keen gaze swept over them, filling with relief. "What took you so long?"

She could feel Erik tense before he answered. "We had a few delays," he replied gruffly, glancing at Saul, who stood dejectedly some distance away. "He all right?" he asked Aaron.

Aaron nodded. "Just a black eye and a few cuts."

"I'm fine, and I didn't mean to cause any trouble—" Saul defended himself, stalking toward them.

Aaron pointed a finger at his nephew. "Apologize."

Saul straightened and looked up at Erik somewhat sheepishly. "I'm sorry I followed you—it won't happen again."

Erik pursed his lips. "I sincerely hope not."

"And?" Aaron prompted.

Saul shoved his hands into his pockets. "I didn't mean to put your wife in danger…"

She watched the nerve in Erik's cheek jump. "I sure you didn't," he answered, throwing her a meaningful glare.

Choosing to ignore him, Meg laid a hand on Saul's arm. "He would have gone anyway," she told Aaron, "with or without me."

Aaron glanced at Erik before meeting her pleading look. "He told me you tried to dissuade him," he admitted. "He's only a boy, but I have all I can do—"

"I'm practically an adult!" Saul protested. "And I want to help!"

"And for the next month you will, but on these premises only," Aaron ordered. "Understand?"

Saul frowned. "You're not my father, so you haven't the right—"

"I have every right as your guardian—now go to your Aunt Esther before she comes all the way up her beside herself with worry."

Saul sighed in frustration but left without further comment. They stood watching until he disappeared around the bend in the tunnel. Erik raised a hand to the back of his neck, glancing at Aaron's frowning profile.

"Well done," he breathed, "you handled that masterfully."

Aaron turned and to Meg's astonishment, he smiled, slapping Erik's shoulder. "I thought so," he joked back, shaking his head in renewed frustration. "What am I going to do about him?"

"Think about training him," Erik mused, glancing back toward the spot from which Saul disappeared. "From what I've seen he's fit for duty," he stated, meeting Aaron's surprised look. "And he was able to keep my wife safe through all that."

Aaron glanced at Meg. "What do you think?"

Amazed that they would even consider her opinion, she nodded. "I agree, though I know nothing of what you're involved with…he knew when to move and when to stay hidden. He even diverted the attention away from me in order to allow me to escape."

Erik was watching her carefully, but she sensed approval in his evaluation of her.

"All right, I'll think on it," Aaron answered, rubbing a hand over his face. "Whew…what a night."

"I assume the others made it back safely?" Erik said quietly.

Aaron nodded. "Daniel got back before we did…he was waiting here for us, with the older one."

Erik gazed down into the tunnel. "The two rabbis," he sighed. "I'm sure they had a lot to discuss."

Meg looked at them questioningly, but neither chose to elaborate. _Two_ rabbis? she mused, thinking Rosalie was right about her Rabbi Daniel.

"Esther took them all down to get settled so I could wait here," he confessed. "We were all pretty nervous about your delay."

Meg felt the weight of their disapproval but was grateful Erik said nothing about their encounter. She doubted Aaron was even aware of how angry he was, Erik being so expert in hiding his feelings. Yet, smiling inwardly to herself, she knew he could never fool her.

"What did Leger say?" he asked Aaron.

Aaron shrugged. "To wait for you to show up and report it if you didn't."

Erik nodded tiredly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I need to collect Daniel."

"He decided to stay over here, so you're free to do as you please," Aaron said as he trudged toward the bend in the tunnel, glancing back at Meg. "Make sure he changes into some dry clothes."

Meg nodded despite her embarrassment, for that would seem to be the natural conclusion to their evening. His suggestion confirmed her suspicion that he knew nothing of her estrangement from Erik.

Watching him walk away, Erik sighed and put a hand on his hip while she turned to glance up the height of the moon. It must be close to dawn, she judged.

Turning toward the shrine, she lifted a hand in farewell and started wearily off. "Goodnight, then—"

He caught her arm and she looked up into his stern gaze. "We're not finished," he interrupted, leading her back toward the storeroom Saul had shown her. He stopped at the door and opened it, dropping her arm and standing aside. "After you."

Straightening and acting as if they were coming home together after a night out, Meg walked into the room as regally as she could manage. Someone had left the lantern burning, and she went to the chair where her clothing lay strewn over its back. In the chilly room she could feel the heat of Erik's gaze burning her back. Reaching up to pull off her coat, she heard the door close. Hanging it on a hook that was nearby, she took off her hat and finger combed her hair, eyeing the changing screen across the room. Afraid to turn and look at him, she began to unbutton the baggy waistcoat with trembling fingers, wondering why he did not resume his questioning. All she could hear was her own shallow breathing as she removed it and began to unfasten her cuffs. Still he said nothing and she wondered what he would do if she went to change behind the screen. Deciding against it and unable to stand the silence any longer, she turned to face him, her eyes riveted to his hands.

He paused in the middle of unfastening his pants as she stared at the same hands which had caressed her in the alley, and previously coaxed the most ecstatic feelings she had ever experienced in her life. Feeling a blush creep up her neck, she slowly lifted her eyes to his, swallowing her surprise as she saw his face.

The glow of the lantern revealed the changes she had not seen in the darkness, and though she knew she was staring she could not help herself. Whereas once the right side of his face had been severely disfigured it now boasted a perfectly normal eye and lids. Fascinated, she studied the smooth surfaces of his cheek, focusing upon straighter nose which though not perfect was much improved. Even the dark shadow of his beard was visible on that side, and save for a few paler scars here and there, he was no longer disfigured. Once again meeting his accusing stare, she was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. Tears sprang to her eyes and she broke the contact, moving her gaze down the strong column of his throat, across his bare chest and down to the place where his hands still held his waistband. He was even more muscular than she remembered, his skin tanned and moistened from his sodden clothing. _Begging for her touch._

She snapped her eyes back to his, focusing her attention on the tiny smile that didn't quite reach his eyes as he slid his belt free. 

"You've seen this before," he said softly, challenging her.

She swallowed, her eyes darting from his back to the graceful movement of his hands. _What are you doing, Erik?_

"No…I haven't," she choked, staring back into the dark green depths of his eyes, "not like this." _Wasn't he still angry with her? Or was he teasing her?_ She watched him slowly open his pants, swallowing painfully at the way doing so made her feel. She lifted questioning eyes back to his.

His brows shot up as he paused again. "If it makes you uncomfortable…" he whispered, his words trailing off.

Suddenly inspired, she lifted her chin and smiled politely. "No, of course not," she said thickly, turning to pick up her dress and chemise. Walking toward the dressing screen, she knew her face red but stepped behind it and changed as quickly as possible. The moments ticked by with no other sound than the whisper of clothing, and as she finishing fastening her bodice she heard his voice.

"Tell me about this letter of yours," it flowed seductively toward her, reaching into her core.

_How did he know she was nearly finished dressing_, she wondered. Could he see her through the screen? Quickly draping the damp clothing she had borrowed over the frame of the screen she stepped out from behind it, relieved to see that he was dressed in workman's clothing.

"You _believe_ me?" she asked in wonder.

His eyes finished their slow, lingering journey over her features as she walked toward him, stopping an arm's length away. "Yes," he said soberly, "somehow, I do."

She stared up at him, lost in the beautiful depths of his eyes. "Why now?"

He swallowed. "Because of the way you are looking at me," he said softly. 

The tension between them was palpable, but she set aside her fears and reached for his hand, not knowing how he would react. He stared down at their joined hands, his lips tightening while she slowly threaded her fingers through his, encouraged by the warm strength of his grip.

"I've made the same foolish mistake I made once before," she told him softly, waiting for him to look at her. When he did she prayed that he would see how she really felt about him. "When I ran away from Maman…"

His expression twisted with emotion. In his eyes she saw a hurt, regret and a trace of understanding. Unable to look away, she sensed he understood her reference to the fight with her mother and how she had run away only to be attacked in the alley, and later rescued by him.

"Only now," she shuddered, tightening her hold on his hand, "I fear the consequences are far more severe."

His gaze narrowed. "This time no one has attacked you…"

"No," she admitted, "…but no one has rescued me either."

He seemed to understand that she meant him, but he said nothing.

"But now I've learned that it is up to me to rescue myself," she confessed, studying his expression.

_And me_, he seemed to be saying.

Slowly withdrawing her hand from his, she began to pace before him, searching for a way to make him understand. "After you left the dining room with Joseph, I found out about the masquerade ball," she began, turning to glance at him. He neither moved nor spoke, but his forehead wrinkled between his eyes, expressing his concern. "Mrs. Brigham handed me a flyer, and when I saw that it was to open the touring company's _Don Juan _I knew I had to find you."

He continued to watch her carefully, despite her slow pacing.

"I was afraid you would find out from Christine," she admitted, glancing up at him. He looked away, visibly tensing. Suddenly eager to tell him everything, she plunged onward. "But it was I who ran into Christine…at first she was happy to see me, and when she saw my ring she insisted on knowing whom I'd married, guessing friends of Raoul's or other names...when she understood that it was you she became hysterical, angry even, as if I had somehow betrayed her by marrying you."

Erik stared at her despite the pain in his expression, and she stopped before him, nervously twining her fingers together. "She began to tell me about your relationship, despite my protests…she shared every intimate detail, and I must admit it made me angry and jealous, at both of you."

He lowered his head and closed his eyes as she continued. "But the worst part was when she told me about your proposal, and the wedding ring…I felt betrayed, then foolish, and finally suspicious. I wondered why you had proposed to her when I was the one who had to propose to you. I wondered why you never told me what she did, and what else you might be keeping from me. So I ran away to put as much distance between us as possible: between Christine and myself, and between us."

At that point he looked up, met her gaze and for a moment she thought he would speak, but instead he only pursed his lips.

"I wanted you to be the one to tell me, not Christine," she complained. "But I _did _write you a letter—

I left it at the desk for you, fully expecting you to read it and understand…and to come after me."

His eyes moistened and he swallowed. "But I _stopped_ running," he choked. "Why did you _start_?"

"I didn't start, if you remember that night," she reminded him. "You rescued me than, Erik—and this time, when you didn't, I was afraid you still had feelings for her."

He leaned forward to grip her arms, his expression tortured. "How could you even think that?" he choked, "after all we have shared?"

She fastened her hands on his arms. "I tried to tell you that I loved you, but you wouldn't let me," she cried, tears spilling down her cheeks before she looked away. "And you never said it yourself—"

"I did!" he groaned, shaking her gently until she looked back at him. "I said it with every glance and every touch, so you see I, too, expected you to read _me_ and understand!"

"But if you cannot say it—"

"I was not able to!"

"Because you still loved her!" 

"No!" he protested, stalking across the room. She watched him lean a hand on top of one of the barrels and lean heavily upon it. His shoulders bunched with tension and he sighed raggedly. "I couldn't say it when I feared your rejection more than I ever feared hers!"

She shook her head in confusion. "But you weren't afraid to challenge Raoul for Christine, not even in public! So why would you fear me?"

He turned slowly to face her, disbelief written in is expression. "Everything changed, with you," he breathed, looking into her eyes. "And when we became one—" he began, closing his eyes. "…What I feared most came upon me, for your rejection cut deeper than any other."

"I didn't reject you, how could you think that?" she gasped, going to him. "I just needed time to think!"

He straightened, planting his hands on his hips and staring down at her. "Try to envision _this_: waking in hospital to find my face had been beaten in but surgically repaired, yet even more painful was learning that my wife of less than one week had abandoned me—"

"I didn't abandon you, and I was your wife longer than that!"

"Yet only in name, if you recall," he breathed, glancing away as if to control himself.

"Erik," she said softly, placing her hand on his arm, "had I any idea that you had been hurt—"

"Surely Rosalie told you," he stated, looking back at her, "after _she _came to visit me."

"She and Jean hid it from me, and until Joseph blurted it out, I had no idea!" she said, pleading for his understanding. "Why didn't you contact me?"

"I was forbidden to," he said, turning his back to her. "And as time went by, I assumed you no longer cared."

"But I did nothing but love you," she choked, tears flooding her eyes, "and you broke my heart."

She watched his shoulders stiffen. "You broke _mine._" 

After a moment she rested her forehead on his back, touching his bare shoulder. "You said you didn't have one." 

"I was…mistaken."

His quiet admission moved her deeply, and she recognized in him the love he found so difficult to voice. Barely touching him, she tentatively caressed the back of his shoulder with her fingertips.

"You did offer me a piece of your mind," she reminded him, remembering the night she had smuggled him into her room at the parish.

He straightened a bit but did not turn to face her. "There wasn't much of it to give," he said hesitantly.

"That didn't matter to me," she told him gently, "I treasured the tiniest bit."

"It might have been the _last_ bit."

"Well," she breathed, slowly curling one hand around his side, "you cannot have it back."

He glanced over that shoulder, eyes searching hers. "Did I ask for anything back?"

"No," she answered, holding his gaze, "I don't believe you did."

He nodded in satisfaction, turning and taking her hand from his waist. Cradling it in his, she felt him toy with her ring. "Incidentally, that ring was given to Christine years ago, only to be ignored," he said gently. "In fact, I had forgotten all about it—hence my failure to mention it to you."

"Erik I'm sor—"

"No, let me explain," he asked, running his thumb over the back of that hand. "Whatever Christine and I may have shared, it was never real. It ended even before the night of the fire, though I refused to believe it until then."

She nodded. "Then you are sure you no longer love her…"

"I doubt I ever loved her," he said simply, shaking his head. "That was obsession, not love."

She lifted his hand between hers and placed a kiss atop his knuckles, thrilled by his indrawn breath. "Thank you for telling me, Erik."

He nodded. "And as for any telegrams you believe I may have sent, I can assure you I did not."

"I think, rather, that someone else has been doing exactly that," she breathed, looking up at him. "Bit I hope you believe everything I've told you tonight."

His eyes bore into hers until he seemed satisfied. "Based upon the last few minutes, I do; though we shall have to do something about our telegram problems."

"As long as we do it together," she agreed, stopping him when he started toward the door. "I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me?"

His eyes traveled longingly over her features. "If you will forgive me." 

She nodded. "And that includes your mind, just in case," she added with a hesitant smile.

"Agreed," he said, reaching for a clean shirt. "It's very late—we should go."

While he finished dressing she hung out his wet clothes next to the ones she had borrowed, standing by the door when he extinguished the light. They walked silently out of the tunnel and at the stables she turned to face him.

"Will you be riding Prince home then?" she asked shyly, wondering if home was at the synagogue or perhaps located at the address indicated on her dinner invitation. Though she longed to sneak him into her room in the new wing.

He nodded. "After I see you to your room."

Taking his hand, she led the way past the shrine, about which neither commented, along the edge of the garden and up the stairs of the side entrance. Through the outside door she saw the guard rise from his seat and come to attention.

"Who's there?" he demanded as she wound her arm around Erik's waist, wanting to show him to the world.

"Mme. Destler," she answered, looking up at her husband. "Detective Gilbert assigned him," she explained.

The door was unlocked and opened, and Erik held it for her as she introduced him to the guard. "This is my husband, Marcel—Erik Destler."

He put out his hand and shook it with a nod. "Come right in, sir," he replied, gesturing despite Erik's look of surprise. "You've been cleared, sir," he added, sitting back down.

Erik looked stunned. "Cleared?"

"Yes sir—I've new orders indicating that no one is to disturb either of you from now on."

He eyed Meg suspiciously, but she was just as stunned.

"That has never been the case before," Erik stated blandly.

Poirier bowed his head, surprising them both. "Our apologies, sir, and Madame."

Meg tugged his hand and he stepped up to her side, still staring at the guard even as he bolted the door behind him. "Orders from whom?"

"The Inspector, and higher, if you know what I mean."

"Are they just for tonight?" she asked, clutching his arm.

"Not at all, Madame—from now until premiere night."

Erik nodded. "We understand; thank you Pourier."

"Good night then," he answered, already gazing out the window at the yard.

Erik paused. "Has there been any trouble?"

"Quite a bit," was his answer, "but I'm not going to give away any details."

"We won't detain you then," Erik dismissed them.

"Carry on, sir," Poirier added without looking back.

Meg tugged his arm, leading him through the new art gallery and into the side corridor that led to her dressing room. She pointed out the changes that had been made in restoring the opera house, whispering any comments or answering the few questions he had as they walked. The night wrapped them in intimate silence, and when they paused at her door she searched her pockets for her key, wondering what he was thinking.

He leaned against the wall, watching her place and jostle the key in the new lock, finally helping her by turning it past a rough spot until it clicked open. Pushing open the door, she looked up at him, frustrated by not being able to see him very well, despite the reappearing moonlight. After a moment he quietly cleared his throat, and lifted her hand as she took a step backward into her room and paused, unsure of what he would say or do.

"Will you be accepting my invitation to dinner," he whispered.

"…am I still invited?"

"If you so desire."

She smiled up at him. "I do…are the plans the same?"

"Yes," he said hesitantly, turning to make sure the corridor was empty. "And your mother?"

She studied his profile, longing to reach up and touch his face. "Very much looking forward to it."

He turned to face her then. "Are you?"

_Not if you won't be there,_ she wanted to say, but she only nodded. He relaxed visibly but she sensed with great disappointment that he was planning to say good night.

"I would like to return the favor," she said quickly, "when you have the time, that is."

After a moment he leaned closer, resting his hand on the lintel. "I will make the time."

Thrilled, she nodded demurely. "I expect to be free on Friday night, the 30th," she whispered.

He stiffened. "Are you not dancing for _Don Juan_?"

She leaned against the door, coming very close to him. "I have an understudy who is very capable," she hinted.

She saw him smile in the dim lighting. "How convenient…"

"May we speak in private?" she whispered, straightening when he nodded. Preceding him into her room, she closed the door after him, hating the way he looked around as if he did not belong there. But she would not let that trouble her now. As he turned to face her, she thanked her mother silently for leaving the soft lamp lit for her and approached him. "Would you like something to drink?

His brows shot up but he held her eyes. "What do you have?" he said softly.

She smiled and went over to her desk. "Just a bit of brandy," she said, pouring him a taste, as well as one for herself. These she carried over, handing him one and holding hers up. "May I propose a toast?"

He smiled back. "Certainly."

"To us, and to a brighter future," she softly declared, clinking his glass and taking a sip. Their eyes met over the rims of the glasses as he sipped his.

"What did you with to discuss?" he asked a little too formally for her taste.

"Although I have been rehearsing, I haven't decided about dancing at the premiere," she told him gently. "I don't wish to offend you by doing so."

"You wouldn't," he said softly, suddenly draining his glass and setting it aside. Breathing a frustrated sigh, he faced her again. "I have been required to make an appearance," he said tightly. At her gasp of protest he held up his hand. "Only just before intermission. After that obligation is met, I expect to be escorted away as quickly as possible, and under heavy guard."

"Is that safe, Erik? When are you expected to arrive?"

"At 5:00 p.m., hours before."

"So no one will see you come or go," she guessed. "But will not see the entire opera?"

"I have no desire to, and it is as you said too dangerous—but I do confess my desire to see you dance."

She hesitated. "Then I shall, but only the first half: perhaps we might leave together, for that dinner?"

His eyes lit with interest and he offered her a slight bow. "I would be honored to escort you, at least _from _the opera house."

She laughed softly, then reached for his hand, her expression sobering. "I am very eager to hear what you have to say to us all, that night," she told him.

"And I will be very eager to see you dance: I will be watching from the audience."

She stared at him in shock, worried about what might happen to him. "The audience? But you'll be swarmed by the mob once they recognize you!

He pointed to his face. "Haven't you noticed? No mask."

"Of course I've noticed: are you truly recovered, Erik?"

"Almost," he answered softly, studying her expression. "Does it make a difference?"

After a moment she reached out and touched his right cheek, gently trailing her fingertip over the slight rise of scarring, then around his eye and temple. He sighed raggedly and closed his eyes as if in thanksgiving, just for her hesitant touch. "It does," she admitted, "but I believe you will benefit even more than I with the change."

He opened his eyes and gazed into hers, and he nodded. "Perhaps you're right..."

"Erik," she worried, touching his shirtfront as she avoided his gaze. "If you will be part of the audience, how will I know where to find you?"

He touched her chin and nudged it up until she looked back into his eyes. "You'll know."

She nodded. "The inspector has insisted I stay away for at least a week after the premiere, just in case anyone should discover we are related," she told him, smoothing down his lapel. "You do have sores of many admirers, many of them women whom might consider me a threat."

"…where did he suggest you go?"

"That was left to my discretion," she said carefully. "I was thinking that perhaps it might the appropriate time to meet somewhere for dinner."

"Assuming I survive the evening," he sighed.

"The only problem is where," she sighed, her voice trailing off.

"…you might consider tonight's location as an option," he offered. "Ask for a tour of the kitchen...it could be adequately stocked ahead of time, should you find it acceptable."

She gazed up at him before stretching up onto her toes as she gripped his shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered, kissing him softly on the lips. She felt his hand linger at her waist before lowering herself back down.

"The pleasure is mine," he answered, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"It will have to be a late supper, considering our obligations."

"Very well."

"Perhaps at 10? Being theatre people, we are accustomed to late suppers, are we not?"

He nodded. "God willing, I shall be there."

The silence lengthened between them until she reached for his hand, moving closer. "Will you stay?" she whispered, her lips close to his.

He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers. "I won't have the strength to resist, if I do," he whispered.

She framed the right side of his face with her hand. "Don't resist," she pleaded in a whisper.

But he took her hand away and kissed her briefly. "Another time, my love," he whispered, turning to let himself out.

She followed him, clutching the edge of the door as he stepped into the hall. Tears spilled from her eyes as he leaned back to kiss her again. "We _will_ be together," he promised, and then he was gone, slipping silently back down the corridor the way they had come.

She watched until she heard Poirier's muted goodnight, then crossed the hall to the windows, touching the cold glass as she watched him walk down the path.

"Come back to me," she whispered, willing him to change his mind and come back. But instead he disappeared into the stable building. Perhaps it was too soon, she thought, or he had to report somewhere instead, though he undoubtedly had been out all night and it was only a few hours until dawn. She waited until he rode out on Prince and vanished from sight.

Slowly going back into her room, she locked the door and collected their glasses, staring down into his until she lifted it and drained the bit left at the bottom. Closing her eyes as she rested her lips on the same place his had been, she missed him more acutely than during their weeks of separation. 

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt _


	48. Chapter 48 Anticipation

_**Chapter 48 Anticipation**_

Erik awoke slowly, dragging himself from a stupor of long needed but barely satisfied sleep. Turning his head to avoid the light streaming through the window, he groaned, pushing his forearms beneath his pillow. He was lying on his stomach, and dug his toes into the mattress as he pressed his face back into the pillow. The right side was still tender from surgery, protesting enough to make him become accustomed to sleeping on the other side. As his eyes drifted closed he sighed lustily, fully intending to return from whence he had come. So charting a course back toward the hazy world suspended between wakefulness and slumber, he allowed himself the luxury of thinking of his wife yet again.

Once again he felt the pull of her eyes dragging him closer, making his heart soar with something approaching joy. Not many hours previous he had thought her skin too pale in the moonlight, yet whenever he touched her she warmed and burned enough to melt his insides. Dreaming of the graceful fan of her lashes and the way her lips opened to his, he sighed and moistened his own slightly chapped lips, hungry for her kiss. Even after their argument he had seen the same hungry, desperate look she wore which told him that she wanted him, and he vowed to see more of it.

Stretching his neck and spreading his arms, he smiled at the contrast in Megs he had discovered. To the world she looked young and inexperienced, self disciplined and yet serene in personality, but he had seen her other side, the one that matched his to perfection. When they came near each other the air crackled with excitement, making him crave her presence. He found that his darkest mood could be banished with the slightest tilt of her mouth or glint in her eyes. Simply laying her hand over his heart caused him to feel that he could easily conquer the world. He had to admit, it was a heady feeling being in love with her. Even arguing with her was a passionate affair, and the few reunions he'd experienced could be overcome with a desire neither of them quite understood. It had taken all his resolve to leave her at her door and ride away not too many hours ago, but he knew he had made the right decision. The time was not right yet, he sensed, nor were their circumstances. Yet more than anything he longed to lose himself in her and once again be overcome with the inexpressible pleasures they had shared. 

He groaned with long suppressed desire and purposefully turned onto his side, bunching the extra pillow beneath his chin and pulling his mind from the direction in which it too often drifted. He would not be satisfied with only the physical side of their relationship, he determined. Thinking back to their time at the parish, he realized that he missed sitting with her by the pond, riding together on Prince beside the lake, and definitely teaching her how to swim. Longing for the privacy of the cabin he envisioned once again the discussions of life and belief they could share. And he also longed to share music with her, to have her dance privately just for him while he accompanied her on piano. So it was with confidence that he judged his decision to leave her alone in her room, and come to his own single lodging. 

_Watch carefully and take things slowly,_ his mind lectured.

_Win her back by wooing her,_ his God had encouraged.

_Be selfless and giving,_ Pieter and Arlene had advised.

He turned to his other side and curled his arm beneath the pillow, settling again and forcing himself to breathe more slowly and deeply. The streets were thankfully still beyond his window at whatever time of the day it was. As he began to more fully relax he pictured his little wife once again …so much power in so compact a package, he sighed, a dreamy smile playing around his lips as he fell into a contented sleep.

_**Meg marched toward the coach**_ as it pulled to a halt at the stable entrance. Following close behind her was the new assistant stable master, repeating his objections to her deafened ear.

"But Madame, the count is our patron—"

"I am well aware of that," she replied, her attention fixed on the coach door as it opened.

"He has every right to retain whatever transport he wishes—"

"Of course he does."

She came to within ten paces before halting, thrusting her hands onto her hips as she waited, aware of him waiting nervously just one step behind her. Together they watched a man step backwards from the coach, reaching out his hand as he touched the ground. Christine's face appeared it the threshold before she placed a graceful hand upon his arm and allowed him to help her disembark. Meg watched with narrowed gaze as one slender foot stretched from beneath her navy brocade gown and pointed toward the step. She swept downward and came to rest next to her husband, smiling up at him with cheeks colored a deep rose as he breathed something into her ear. Her smile widened at his suggestive laugh, grating against Meg's ears as she waited for the perfect moment to speak.

"Please, Madam," the stableman pleaded under his breath, "at least let me speak first."

Instead she surged toward them, leaving him to scamper in her wake. "Finally!" she shouted, startling both of them as she came closer. "Where have you two been? I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Meg!" Christine gushed, her expression changing to concern when she saw her expression. "Is something wrong?" 

"Indeed it is," she answered, watching Raoul nod in response to the stableman's nervous apology. With one of his head he indicated the matter should be taken up with the driver and extended a note of indeterminate sum to cover the offense.

"Thank you, Monsieur," the man answered, snatching it from Raoul's fingertips before moving toward the dismounting driver.

Raoul evaluated Meg's angry expression as Christine pretended to adjust her skirts. "Who was that," he asked Meg, "another admirer?" 

"Raoul! Don't tease," Christine scolded, pulling on her gloves.

"That's _Arthur_," Meg enunciated. "The new stableman—"

"A bit below your station, isn't he?" Raoul teased, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

"How dare you—" Meg fumed, shifting her attention to Christine. "I need to have a word with you both!"

"Are _you_ all right?" Christine asked, her brows knit in concern.

"How could I be when you have been lying to me all these weeks!"

Christine laid a hand upon her chest. "Lying? Whatever are you talking about—"

"Look at her, darling," Raoul interrupted. "Isn't she adorable when she's angry?"

"And you!" Meg growled, surging forward to shove him in the chest with both hands. To her extreme satisfaction he staggered backward, his face registering surprise. "You had my husband beaten enough to put him in the hospital and need surgery to fix it! I hope the police throw you in jail, where you belong!"

"What?" he laughed, glancing at Christine with mock sympathy, as if Meg were a candidate for the asylum. "Surely your imagination has gone beyond the proper limit—" 

"My _imagination_? I don't think Inspector Leger would agree!" she accused, enjoying the momentary silence that reigned. It even attracted the attention of the stableman and driver as they led away the team and carriage. But one warning look from Raoul made them turn back to their duties.

"Raoul was only protecting me," Christine admitted, glancing around to be sure no one else overheard. "Surely you can understand that, and the fact that he might be a little jealous—"

"Jealous?" Meg railed, frustrated by their reaction. "What does he have to be jealous about?"

"Your husband, of course—," Christine retorted, "whose temper is legendary, not to mention his insane fantasies of love—"

"My husband is a changed man," Meg declared, "whether you two are brave enough to acknowledge it or not!"

"Changed? I doubt that," Raoul scoffed, glancing dismissively at her. "One has to wonder what kind of a marriage you really have, always being the one to defend him…by the way, where is he…serving penance?"

"He was here not long ago, no thanks to your efforts to separate us," Meg informed them. "A pity your paths did not cross."

Christine looked instantly worried but covered it up with a pretty pout. "You still need our help to break away from him, Meg! Trust me—I know how powerful a hold that can be, and how blind it can make you—"

"Indeed—I had to help Christine, just as we wished to help you," Raoul soothed. 

"Don't patronize me," Meg warned, shifting her attention to Christine. "I thought you were my friend," she said quietly, "but a friend would not do what you have done—"

"I am your friend, Meg!"

"Not any more—you're the one who is too blind to see the truth!"

Raoul stepped between them, holding up a hand. "Now wait a minute—"

Meg shot him a warning glare before addressing Christine again. "I know real love when I see it, Christine—do you?"

Christine smiled indulgently, taking Raoul's arm. "Of course I do… I feel sorry for you, if you think that is what you have with _him_." 

"Actually, I'm grateful to you," Meg stated, shaking with emotion. "What you discarded has become the best love I could ever desire."

"You'll take her leftovers?" Raoul challenged. "Really, Marguerite, you should think more highly of yourself."

She stopped mid thought to stare at him. "What did you call me?" she croaked, her mind shooting back to the mystery of the telegrams.

"Marguerite—that is your name, is it not?" Raoul drawled. "Honestly I don't understand—"

"It _was_ you!" she accused, pointing a finger at him. "You sent me those telegrams, pretending you were him just to destroy our marriage!"

"I've destroyed nothing," Raoul said dismissively while Christine shook her head in sympathy. 

"Really, Meg, you need help—" she offered.

"He didn't deny it!" she told Christine. "And I suppose you did your part as well!"

"I care about you, Meg," Christine insisted. "We've known each other for so long—"

Meg stared at her, shaking her head. "I don't know you anymore…I can't believe I listened to you all this time…"

Raoul patted her arm condescendingly. "Marguerite, don't let this spoil a friendship that has—"

"Don't touch me!" she shouted, recoiling from his touch. "Stay out of our affairs, both of you, or I'll go to the police!"

As she turned and marched off she could hear their comments as tears sprang to her eyes.

"_She's_ the one who has changed," Christine muttered. "I can hardly wait until this whole thing is over."

"And when it is, I doubt either of them will stay," Raoul huffed. "They literally have no place to go…" 

_**Erik gripped the small box**_ in his palm, curling his fingers around it possessively. Smiling to himself, he felt confident that it was exactly what he had been looking for. It had taken the better part of the day to find, but it was well worth the effort. His spirit lifted in anticipation, for he sensed that when she received this gift all her concerns and fears would fade into the past, right where they belonged. Why he had not thought of it sooner, he could not guess; perhaps his own doubts had worked against him, clouding his mind from seeing an appropriate solution. But now, after seeing her again and having his hope restored, he looked forward to their future with considerably more confidence. No matter what was still to come. 

Darting between groups of young people and passing couples strolling along together, he continued to walk briskly through the center, glad for an opportunity to stretch his legs. At times his leg still bothered him, particularly after prolonged riding, but that was bound to improve. Shoppers filed in and out of the storefronts, sometimes forming lines which he thankfully passed by. Going out in public in broad daylight without a mask was still a new experience for him. It set him on edge somehow, and he wondered if he would ever become accustomed to it. As he approached a millinery he tensed, sensing it was about to happen again even as he watched the small group of women take sudden notice of him. He approached them and saw their smiles of polite regard change when they spotted him, making him feel like prey caught in the hunters' sights.

There were four of them this time, all well dressed and attractive young women. He felt as if time slowed down as their steps slowed and heads turned to gaze at him with unwelcome familiarity, quickly changing to bold stares of invitation. Frowning in response, he quickened his steps and passed them by, hating the weight of their assessing looks directed toward his person as if they had the right to do so. Even from behind he could hear their breathy comments and low laughs, making him all too aware of his loneliness. If only Meg would walk with him and spare him the attention of other women, he thought moodily.

Glancing overhead at the position of the sun to distract himself, he judged his remaining hours barely adequate for all he had to do. Walking on for another four blocks he finally reached the printer's where his order was waiting to be picked up. It was to be his last errand before he returned to the basement of the synagogue to check the accuracy of the printing on the old piano. After that he needed to stop by the house to check on dinner preparations. He had already planned to be hidden outside by the time they arrived, make sure they entered safely, deliver the package and finally appear at the tunnels by 9 o'clock. With a sigh of resignation he entered the shop, collected his package, paid the clerk and continued with his errands. 

_**"Marguerite!" Louise called**_, surprised to see her daughter wince at the sound of her own name. She stopped and turned, looked in her direction and answered her beckoning wave.

"Come quickly!" she smiled gaily, watching Meg cross the foyer. With her mother's eye she thought she looked a bit more rested, but something had clearly upset her. As her lace up boots clicked over the black and white tiles Louise marveled at Erik's timing, for it was absolutely perfect. It did not occur to her that he would ever fail to meet her expectations, however long it took. She just hoped Meg had as much faith in her new husband.

"What is it, Maman?" she answered tersely, her eyes scanning the office area.

_No doubt for a sign of the managers,_ Louise sensed, knowing that Meg too was as guilty of avoiding them as she. "Don't worry, petite," she whispered, glancing toward the main entrance, "their luncheon is distracting them for now."

"How decadent," Meg sighed as Louise turned and lifted the huge tissue-wrapped gift.

"_This_ was just delivered for you!" she announced, extending it to her despite Meg's look of disbelief.

"For me?" she gasped, slowly reaching for it and gently embracing it with wide arms. She looked her in the eye, her expression full of questions. "From whom?"

"A secret admirer?" Louise couldn't help breathing. Flowers would help to cheer her up, she thought, for her daughter was sadly in need of a little romance. For years she had had her doubts about Erik, especially after the disaster with Christine. But it seemed that after his stay at the parish he had not only changed a great deal, but had also begun to learn the intricacies of courtship. For that she would be eternally grateful to Pieter and Arlene.

They were shrouded in white tissue paper, and she watched Meg dip her nose toward the top and inhale the sweet, grassy fragrance emanating from within. She lifted her eyes, a tiny smile playing about her lips. "Secret admirer?"

Louise shrugged. "There was no card, but the delivery boy came from clear across the city…he said he did not take the order, so he could not describe its sender."

"How mysterious," Meg breathed, poking her nose against the paper. 

"Its fragrance it not typical of those your fans send," Louise observed, watching her tear open a corner to examine her gift.

"Wildflowers!" Meg breathed, smiling with obvious pleasure. "And in October!"

"I am sure they cost a fortune!" Louise stated, studying her carefully. Taking a moment to glance around, she leaned closer. "You've seen him, haven't you?" she whispered.

Meg nodded furtively. "Last night, or rather very early this morning," she whispered back.

"Where?"

"Here!" she whispered, smiling as she nodded toward the corridor leading to her dressing room.

Louise came around the counter and walked with her in that direction, bending her heat toward hers. "He should not have risked it," Louise worried, "not with all the opera security and police—"

"Mon. Poirier said it was fine," Meg whispered back. "He said their orders have been changed, and that now we will be allowed to spend time together."

"But that's not safe for you!?" Louise breathed, looking over her shoulder. "The papers are full of speculation about his attending the premiere! If you are seen with him there is no telling what people will do!"

"We have to trust the police: they are watching out for us," Meg said, smiling despite her obvious concern. "Poirier likes him, Maman—they only met last night, and I could tell."

They reached her dressing room and entered to tend to the bouquet. Louise watched her lay it upon her bed and carefully tear away the paper. Gasped in surprise, they both stood back to gaze down at them, Meg covering her mouth to muffle her squeals of delight.

There were at least a dozen varieties of them, wildflowers interspersed with cultivated species, all in hues of variegated pink, pale blue and yellows. Baby's breath dotted the mixture, and many varieties of greenery were tucked in between the blooms. It was obvious that everything had been chosen and combined with the greatest affection and care. Louise grasped her arm, noting the misty sheen of her daughter's eyes.

"Let met get a vase," she said softly, turning to search the cabinet beneath the vanity. 

"He was very angry at me," she heard Meg say softly, still staring down at the flowers.

Louise gripped the heavy vase and straightened, turning to face her as she filled it halfway with water. "You have both had a difficult time."

"We shouted at each other…accused each other of leaving," she added, turning to look at her. "He never got the note I left for him, Maman—all this time he has assumed the worst, that I left him."

Louise swallowed. "Mon dieux…he must have been devastated."

"He said I broke his heart," Meg choked. 

Louise laid a hand over her heart, deeply concerned for both of them. "What did you say?"

"I told him my heart was broken, too, but that I loved him still." She picked up the flowers and inserted them, arranging them as best she could. "They barely fit," she smiled gently, carrying the vase over to her table.

"It is truly an extravagant bouquet, petite," Louise sighed, "one that shows his love for you."

"You were right," Meg admitted. "Now that we have spoken, everything has changed…and I know that he truly loves me."

"It has been so difficult for him," Louise said gently. "Never forget where he has come from, Marguerite. It will help you refrain from judging him in the same way you might judge others."

"How have you managed it, Maman?" she asked, her expression troubled. "You have always understood him, when no one else has been able to."

"I saw what they did to him," Louise frowned. "How they forced him to live…worse than an animal would be treated…the tragedy is that that kind of life was all he had ever known."

"It is a miracle he has survived."

"It is...but I have great hopes for both of you," Louise said cheerfully. "You have seen the man inside, something few others have seen, and he recognizes that."

"His face—I nearly forgot!" Meg gasped. "He's had the surgery, Maman—and the change is astounding!"

"Surgery? When?"

"Sit down, Maman," Meg ordered, pulling out a chair for her. "I must tell you everything, and then we must get ready for dinner!" 

"_**Do not worry, Mon. Erik**_—everything will be perfect," Claire said, smiling shyly before directing her attention back to her cooking. "This will be ready within minutes," she judged, blowing a tendril of hair off her forehead as she stirred the chicken tarragon. Erik watched distractedly as a puff of aromatic steam rose into the air. The familiar fragrance transported him back in time to the night he bribed the chef at the hotel for their snack. He remembered Meg's expression when she'd looked up and smiled at him, parting her lips to taste the food. And he remembered pulling her into the linen closet, nearly losing his control with her.

"Monsieur?...is something amiss?"

Looking up, he saw the concern in Claire's expression and stiffened. "I beg your pardon?" he asked as calmly as he could manage.

"Your frown, Monsieur," Claire stated, trying but failing to hide her amusement. "It was quite fierce," she dared, turning to add a splash of white wine to the skillet.

"I'm just—tired," he breathed, inhaling the aroma as he reached for his cloak. "The house looks remarkable—you've done an excellent job, and I am sure my wife will be very pleased," he told her, flinging it around his shoulders. He really had to be careful with his emotions, he chided himself, for Clair was gushing with excitement at his plans for the night. She of course knew nothing of his weeks of estrangement from Meg. "I leave things in your capable hands," he stated, fastening it closed.

She tapped the spoon on the edge of the pan. "I am so happy you approved of my designs," she said softly. "Especially the dance studio, which I admit was quite a challenge."

"You and your sister have proven to be very resourceful," he answered, gazing beyond the glass of the sunroom to the colors swirling into what was becoming a magnificent sunset. If only he could stay tonight…

"Jeannette will be arriving momentarily," she announced, coming to his side to admire the view. "We both think it is a wonderful idea, surprising your wife and her mother with your new home."

He turned to offer her a rare smile as he felt for the doorknob. "I will drop by the shop tomorrow," he said, opening the door. Trying not to grimace at her slight curtsy, he stepped out onto the tiled floor feeling inordinately uncomfortable at her servant like behavior. It was only temporary, he reminded himself, a necessity in light of all his other responsibilities. Once Meg and Louise moved in they could determine their needs and handle the hiring of any staff deemed necessary. Having always managed everything on his own, he also found it an intrusion on his privacy, not to mention the unpalatable concept of servants. 

"Don't worry, Monsieur, we plan to leave promptly by 9:00," she said, coloring slightly. "We would not wish to interfere with your celebration."

He had an uncanny feeling that she could suddenly read his mind, but he nodded stiffly, wondering what she would think if she knew the truth about the state of his marriage. "It has been some time since we have done so—" he said tactfully."Ah, your work," she nodded. "I understand, completely. It consumes so much of our time that we must work even harder to enjoy what little free time we do have!"

The low pitched chime of the doorbell sounded, and she held up a hand. "That will be Jeannette!" she said excitedly.

Unwilling to face her sister, Erik excused himself as she ran to the door. Jeannette was an outrageous flirt who made him uncomfortable with her bold stares and attempts to stand close to him, all of which she hid behind her sister's back. Had Claire not insisted they work together he never would have allowed her into the house. To his surprise, however, her expertise in furniture and fabric had proven invaluable with the interior design. For now he counted the days until they were successfully promoted to their own business venture, a project he had initiated and supported while hiring them. But that did not mean he must remain in her presence if he could not bear it. 

_**Claire grabbed her sister's arm**_ as they turned, only to see him crossing the length of the sunroom on his way out the back. "That's strange," she said quietly, "he left so suddenly, almost as if he were afraid of something." 

Jeannette pulled her gaze from following his departure with great interest. "So handsome and well built," she sighed, "a pity he is so intense and serious, not to mention always working! I can only begin to imagine how to get that one to relax…"

"Enough of that!" Claire said, pinching her briefly and ducking away from her answering swat. "Control yourself and come help me," she scolded. "While you are at it, take a good look around and see how completely devoted he is to his _wife_!"

"Hmmph!" Jeannette sniffed, following her toward the kitchen. "Where has she been all this time?" she complained, reaching for a towel. "A man like that should not be alone too long…"

Claire glanced toward the pot she was drying, shaking her head. "That is none of our business, and you had better stop your flirting or you will get us both dismissed." She concentrated on steadying a platter as she began to transfer the chicken to the center. "Don't think I haven't noticed you doing it."

"I cannot help it," Jeannette sighed. "Those eyes of his draw me, like a moth to a flame…"

"Go too far we will both be burned!" Claire warned, more upset with Jeannette than she would admit. "He's not accustomed to it, I told you that before! Something tells me he does not easily tolerate fools."

"He won't fire us," Jeannette huffed. "He is far too clever and generous to let a little thing like flirting end a good business relationship. Once his family hires servants we will be free to concentrate on our business, and he knows it will prove a good investment for him."

"Don't be so confident," Claire cautioned. "The reason he has anything to do with us at all is because Meg and I got along so well at the mansion."

Jeannette placed the pot back into the cabinet, turning to smile. "And he probably wanted to rescue you from the judge's lecherous stares as well!"

"I'm just grateful to be away from him," Claire breathed. "Now hurry, help me set out the appetizers—they will be here soon!"

_**Meg stared mutely**_ at the low expanse of the beautifully situated house, its stained glass door intricately carved with ivy designs, matching the groundcover spreading out at their feet. Trees bent low over the roof, arching toward ornately clipped hedges and beds of dormant flowers. The land stretched along the top of a cliff, secluded at the end of a street in one of the best sections of the city. The other homes stood far back beyond the cover of sentinel trees, their gated drives closed and set apart from each other. Looking at it, she wondered who it was that had so generously offered their home for her meeting with Erik's 'old friend.' And what kind of relationship her husband had with such a wealthy and hospitable benefactor.

A coach had even been ordered for them, but not from the opera livery. The cab was a much older and richer design, the driver an elderly man who said little, and now only indicated that he would return precisely at 10 to take them home. Even now, she heard him softly speaking to the horses as they slowly plodded away, leaving her and her mother standing near the steps and gazing up at the incredibly beautiful sunset. It cast a golden-pink glow over the small estate, bathing it in a surrealistic blend of light and shadow. Almost as if it was an enchanted land of make believe.

Louise stepped up and pressed the chimes, turning to wave her up next to her. They heard the pleasantly low tones muted behind the door, and when it opened Meg stared in surprise at the woman who stood there. She was dressed in dove gray and white, her hair neatly piled atop her head. It was not, as she had imagined, Rosalie, or Arlene and especially not Christine, she thought with a smile. Louise leaned closer, as if to inspect the woman.

"You were expecting someone else, Madame?" she finally said, looking a bit disappointed. "Or perhaps you don't recognize me?"

"Claire!" Meg breathed, feeling her mother's hand on her arm.

"It is her!" Louise told Meg, tugging her arm. "I almost did not recognize her!"

Meg stepped closer and hugged the girl from Judge Miller's mansion. But she looked radiant, no longer wearing the tight, pinched expression she had when they had first met.

"Come in, come in!" Claire urged, standing aside as they slowly walked into the foyer. "It is so good to see you both again."

"And you!" Meg breathed.

"You have resigned your position at Judge Miller's," Louise stated after scanning her surroundings with lightning fast approval. The cedar floor upon which they stood lent a pleasant aroma to the delicious fragrance coming from within the house. Softly painted walls were tastefully combined with several tall plants that stood along the hallway.

Meg pulled her gaze back to Claire, trying to ignore the stab of longing she felt for Erik. The meal smelled unmistakably like the one they had shared in Brussels, before his disappearance. She wondered why he had not chosen to have dinner with them. Even more troubling was the fact that he had declined her invitation to stay the remainder of the night with her. But she could see now that he had arranged this dinner with her friend Claire, laughing to herself at his designation of "old friend." Perhaps Claire might be the one to provide some of the answers she desired, beginning with who the owner of this beautiful home might be. 

"Oui, Mme. Giry," Claire was answering. "Mon. Erik rescued me from that position to come work for him," she said, taking their cloaks to hang them up in the small closet. "It was truly an answer to prayer."

"How interesting," Louise commented, looking at the other woman who was walking toward them. She curtsied slightly and swept a dismissive look over Meg's cream colored gown.

"This is my sister, Jeannette," Claire introduced, leading them toward the sitting room. "She is helping me tonight."

"We are happy to meet you," Meg replied, puzzled by the hint of hostility in Jeannette's expression. With one hand she turned to close the door behind her, pausing to gaze again out at the beautiful yard and sky. The light was fading, but as her gaze lingered on the trees and shrubs she had the strangest feeling that they were being watched. Shrugging off her concern, she assumed it would be Leger's men who were getting better and better at staying out of sight, ever vigilant to protect her little family. Closing the door, she moved down the hallway, half listening to the animated discussion being exchanged between her mother and Claire. 

_**Erik patted Prince's neck distractedly**_, his gaze still riveted to the place where she had closed the door standing between them, cutting off his hungry gaze. His heart pounded as he hesitated, hidden by the dense brush and overhanging branches of cedar and pine. The darkness which shadowed him was a sharp contrast to his vision of Meg standing in the pink glow of the sunset, her hair gilded by the slanting sunlight. Her gown fit her like a glove and was the perfect pale shade for her coloring, he thought as he swallowed hard. Prince snorted his impatience and butted gently at his shoulder, yet he was nearly overcome by a wave of combined desire and loneliness as he stared at the house. _Their house…_

_**Claire finished her story**_ of coming to work for Erik by the time they entered the master bedroom and paused to see its design. Eyes drawn to the window that spanned nearly an entire wall, they could see the sparkling lights of the city and the view spread out before them. Meg felt her breath catch as she slowly walking toward it and stood looking out.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, vaguely aware of her mother and Claire discussing the details of each piece of fabric. Jeannette filled them in with explanations of the origin of the pieces of furniture, and Meg felt herself blush at imagining sharing a bedroom like this with Erik. It was a large room, colored in cream and pale gray everywhere she looked, a masculine room in truth. There was even a small lavatory at the opposite corner, beyond which opened up a huge tub standing upon light colored tiles.

"What do you think, Meg?" Louise asked, noting the soft glow in her face as she turned, her eyes darting to the bed and back.

"You both have so much talent," she breathed, nodding to Claire and her sister. She reached out to run her fingertips over a large rubbery leaf on the plant standing at her side. "I am impressed, and I see why Erik has sponsored your investment in a proprietorship." 

"We should very much like to thank the owner for allowing us this wonderful night," Louise stated, gazing expectantly at Claire. "Perhaps you will give us his—or her—address so that we might pen a thank you."

Claire exchanged a furtive glance at Jeannette, who chuckled good naturedly. "Surely you know," she insisted, nudging Claire's side.

"Monsieur wanted everything to be a surprise, for both of you," Claire smiled. 

Meg stared at them, then her mother. "Are you saying—"

"This is _your_ home, Madame, and Madame Giry," Claire said, suppressing her laughter. "And Monsieur's of course—but we thought you had guessed his surprise!"

"Yes…Erik is full of surprises," Louise said meaningfully, a smile playing around her lips.

"Can it be?" Meg breathed in astonishment. "This is _Erik's_ home?"

"No, Madame, yours!" Jeannette corrected, dipping a slight curtsy. "If you will excuse me, I will finish cleaning up."

"You both truly have a gift," Louise stopped her. "But we do thank you for your hospitality and excellent service."

"And your company," Meg added with a smile.

Claire nodded shyly. "It is the first time we have been encouraged to dine with those we serve, and a pleasure of course."

"May we help clean things up?" Meg offered, walking after Claire as she began to leave.

"Oh non, Madame! And your surprises are not over!" 

They followed her back into the parlor where Jeannette stood over two beautifully wrapped gifts she apparently had just set out upon the table. Louise looked at Claire pointedly.

"What is this—_presents_?" she exclaimed, checking the name tag on one. "It has my name on it!"

"Oui, Madame," Claire gushed, smiling at Meg. "Monsieur brought them just before you arrived."

Meg froze, holding the gift her mother had handed her. "He was here? Tonight?"

Claire nodded. "I was surprised you did not see each other, your coach drew up only moments after he left." 

_He was there, watching!_ She thought, heart pounding with excitement. She knew someone had been there! 

Louise was tearing open her gift, and after a moment's pause she slowly lifted out beautiful black shawl embroidered with every color imaginable. For a moment they fell silent, their eyes studying the designs of flowers and birds stitched in tiny arrays of swirls. Along the edge was a delicate border of fringe, and when she draped it around her shoulders she looked up at Meg with a smile. "This is beautiful," she gasped, "a work of art." And then her eyes filled with tears. "Never have I been given anything so extravagant…"

Claire handed Meg a tissue wrapped gift, and when she carefully unfolded she found two golden hair combs, each dotted with tiny pearls. Claire glanced at her sister and together they left the room to finish their duties. Meg stared at her mother at length before gently wrapping the combs and slipping them into her reticule.

"You forgot something," Louise said softly, her attention focused upon the small white box at the center of the table with her name written upon it. When Meg opened it, she gasped in surprise and met her mother's waiting gaze.

"It's a wedding band," she choked, lifting it between her fingertips to examine it. There was no mistaking the fact that it was a golden wedding band, plain save for the unusual border of tiny fruits and flowers circling both edges. "Pomegranates," she breathed, her mind flitting to the Scriptures, "like in the Song of Solomon..."

"How exquisite," Louise said, smiling at her expression. "How wonderful of Erik."

"Something is engraved inside," Meg said, turning it in the candlelight. "MG and ED…July 9th..."

"The date of your wedding?" Louise choked, putting her arm around her. "But no year?"

"No, Maman," she breathed, staring at the band. "No year…just like my song."

Louise pulled back to study her expression. "What song?" 

_Mon. Reyer_ pulled the sash of his robe tighter as he hurried toward the door. "Who on earth would be calling at this hour?" he muttered crankily, stopping abruptly just short of the door. With a worried frown, he changed his mind and touched the wood. "If it was someone with ill intent, they would not have rung," he decided, stretching up to look into the peephole. Gasping, he ducked away, putting a hand to his mouth.

"It's him!" he breathed, heart pounding with anxiety. Not knowing what to do, he stood there until a soft knock tapped thrice and then silence. "But what could _he_ want from me?"

"Monsieur Conductor," a low voice called loudly enough for him to hear. "Please…I need only a moment of your time…I have a manuscript for you."

Reyer stretched to take another look, studying the familiar face of the man waiting outside in the cold. _What manuscript? _

"It is a new composition," the voice said patiently, "and I've called it 'Meg's Song.'"

"Oh my!" Reyer declared, yanking open the door. On his step stood the composer, his dark form considerably more threatening up close, for never had they stood upon the same level in all their years of working together. "Come in!" he gasped, eyeing the leather bound portfolio tucked beneath his cloak. Then, in one of his bravest moments, Reyer gripped his arm and tugged him inside, slamming the door behind them. The visitor chuckled softly and bowed, extending the portfolio and watching Reyer clutch it eagerly to his chest.

"I was not sure you would admit," he said quietly, his expression warming despite the fact that Reyer continued staring at him. "I have enjoyed working with you these many years…though perhaps not face to face."

"But Monsieur—" Reyer gasped in shock, staring up at him, "how did you—what happened— why, you have been transformed!"

He nodded, his expression sobering. "Indeed I have—inside, as well as out."

"Please," Reyer begged, gesturing toward his parlor, "come in and be seated—don't mind the disarray!"

His visitor swept his cape aside, draping it over one shoulder as he complied, but raising a hand to his greatly improved cheek and resting it there. His gaze was intense, but not in the least threatening, putting Reyer at ease.

"I must admit to being very concerned for your well being, Monsieur," Reyer confessed nervously, sitting opposite him, "having heard and read a great deal about your circumstances."

After some hesitation, the man's eyes twinkled and he nearly smiled. "You are not afraid of me, I trust?"

Reyer paused, smiling nervously. "I have been—I mean I was—that is, until I witnessed the love shining in Marguerite's eyes."

"…she is a remarkable woman," he answered, averting his gaze and scanning the piles of books and sheet music that covered every surface of the room.

"And you are truly her husband, Monsieur?" Reyer asked hesitantly.

Their eyes met and held for a moment. "Yes, by the grace and mercy of God."

"May I ask where, Monsieur?"

"We were married at a remote parish, in Luxembourg."

Reyer nodded, finally placing the portfolio on the table between them. "But you have returned,"  
he breathed, unsnapping it and laying it open facing his guest. 

"We shall be seeing each other on the 30th Monsieur."

Reyer tried to hide his excitement as he nodded, remembering to keep Marguerite's secret. "And you have brought me something else to debut?"

"Yes, if you will forgive the delay," his guest stated, turning the score back so that Reyer could read it. "I have been asked to address the city, just before intermission, and I would like to sing this song for Marguerite, with your help of course."

Monsieur Reyer touched a trembling hand to the score, quickly scanning the lines before he looked up. "I would be honored, sir," he replied. "Anything you might sing or compose has my full support."

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	49. Chapter 49 The Rehearsal

_**Chapter 49 The Rehearsal**_

Daniel was waiting for him outside his room, slumped against the wall and sitting on the top stair. Alarmed by his anxious expression, Erik hesitated on the landing just below him. "What's wrong?"

"We must be leave now," Daniel breathed in a whisper; "it cannot wait until tomorrow."

Erik nodded, stepped past him and reached into his pocket for the key. Unlocking the door he stood aside. "All right," he answered, noting how quickly Daniel entered his room and rushed toward the window. Yet once there he peered out from the edge of the pane, gazing down into the alley. Watching him with mounting concern, Erik swung off his cloak and hung it over the hook on the door before he closed it carefully.

"Give me a moment to change and pack," he said quietly, striding toward the wardrobe.

Still staring out the window, Daniel shook his head. "I should have foreseen it," he muttered. "But we were so careful in changes our times and routes..."

Laying out a change of clothing, Erik sank to the edge of his bed to pull off his boots. "Just tell me what happened."

Daniel glanced to him and back to the window. "I'm being followed, just like you were the night we left Notre Dame."

Dropping a boot to the floor, Erik glanced toward him, meeting his gaze. "That was my wife and Aaron's 14-year-old nephew."

"This is different!" Daniel hissed, pulling away from the window to face him. "I've sensed it before, but tonight I saw him for the first time tonight, just a glimpse, but halfway between the tunnels and here. I changed course accordingly and I think he lost track of me, but I went back to alert the others just in case—hence the change in plan."

Sighing with resignation, Erik dropped his other boot. "Go on."

"It's a good thing you came back early," Daniel hesitated, his gaze expectant.

Erik got up and went to collect a warmer pair of hose and throw extras onto the bed. "Please, elucidate," he encouraged.

"You'll have to meet them at the park instead where Aaron will be waiting for you. Then carry on as before."

Erik added another pair of trousers and two shirts to the pile. "Fine," he stated, turning to pull out his bag. Accustomed to his privacy, he thought of asking Daniel to leave so that he could change, but wasn't quite sure how to explain his wishes. After all, Daniel had probably not grown up in total isolation, as he had.

"'Fine'?" Daniel parroted, coming toward him with his hands held up. "No questions, not even a protest?"

Erik looked up from his bag. "Do I have any choice in the matter?"

"Of course you do—this isn't Leger's work alone."

Taking out a heavy woolen vest, he tossed it atop the other clothing. "I was under the impression that it was."

"As long as we can work together efficiently," Daniel qualified. "But if we don't the work continues, so you see there is no need to feel obligated."

Erik straightened, beginning to remove his dress jacket. "I wasn't aware of that."

Daniel sighed and looked away. "The resettlement of Jewish refugees is a politically sensitive issue; Leger involves you only so long as you remain invisible—anonymous, like a rumor which cannot be proven, or—"

"A ghost," Erik supplied, holding his gaze.

Daniel smiled nervously. "Exactly, which explains my concern in being followed. Should anyone suspect you, a replacement will be found in order to continue the work."

"On such short notice?" he challenged, beginning to pack his bag.

"I'll go myself."

Erik nodded, glancing up. "I fear you are overlooking one important detail," he whispered as if their conversation was being monitored. "You don't know where the parish is."

"Then Aaron will take me."

"He has too many responsibilities which he cannot abandon."

Daniel shrugged. "You can give me directions, or I'll ask for them…even better, could you draw me a map?"

Erik turned away to hang up his dress suit. "It's not that kind of place."

"But it's a church!" Daniel laughed nervously. "Everybody knows where churches are—it's the synagogues which are well hidden.

Erik stared at him over one shoulder, shaking his head in disbelief. "The only explanation for that attitude is your being from Russia yourself."

Daniel frowned. "I'm not—I just studied there."

Erik smiled enigmatically. "I see; what concerns me is the vision of you going from door to door asking where the parish is while someone could be 'trailing along behind you.'"

"I wasn't imaging it—I am careful because I need to be!"

Erik began to pull off his shirt, realizing that he would have to change in front of him. "'Paranoid' might be a better choice of word." 

Daniel grasped his tzit tzit and tugged it down with a huff. "I'm only taking the proper precautions, and furthermore I am perfectly capable of going without you."

"Capable yes, but asking for directions to a remote place in the mountains very few people know exists?" Erik parried, glancing down at the long fringes of his garment. "Dressed like that, you are even more likely to arouse suspicion."

Daniel looked puzzled a moment, then began hurriedly tucking in his fringes. "Perhaps you're right," he frowned. "I don't look like I'm going to church, do I?"

Erik pulled on the undershirt and threw him a woolen tunic. "No, at least not the last time I checked."

Daniel caught it and seemed to realize a disguise might be helpful. He pulled off his dress coat, glancing at Erik's neatly made up bed. "I came up here a few times looking for you," he said matter of factly. "Where were you all day?

Erik drew on his overshirt as well. "Sleeping late, shopping, courting my wife in absentia."

Daniel stopped fastening his shirt. "You're going to have to explain the latter, Giles—I have no idea what it means."

"Exactly what it implies," Erik stated. "Sending flowers without a card, buying gifts to be left in someone else's care, arranging dinner for her without attending."

Daniel shook his head. "And now I'm taking you away from her."

"It cannot be helped."

"Perhaps it can," Daniel said thoughtfully. "Were I in your position I would sternly warn anyone coming between my wife and I that they are treading upon dangerous ground..._holy_ ground."

"Ah but I'm not the rabbi," Erik replied. "I don't have to be so diplomatic...I practically threatened Leger to keep him from interfering."

"And he didn't lock you up, or forbid you to see her?"

"Quite the contrary," Erik announced, fastening his pants. "Just last night I was granted access to the Opera House corridor wherein lies her dressing room."

"Congratulations," Daniel bowed. "That must have been considered a major coup!?"

Placing a hand over his heart, Erik bowed his head. "I thought so, though I must admit questioning the real reason."

"Now who is paranoid?" Daniel quipped. "Although in your case no one can blame you for being that way—but I don't understand why you choose to be here, not with her."

Erik sat down again to pull on woolen hose. "It is best we wait until the danger subsides and the premier is a thing of the past."

"Is it on the 30th?"

"Yes, a Friday night."

"Ah the sabbath," Daniel mused, tugging at his beard. "You know Giles, I am very tempted to come see the performance from the front row."

"So am I, but once again it will be only from a distance."

"But you should be on stage, the main attraction, especially after all the rumors one hears."

Erik reached for his boots. "It is not to be: the plan is to make a brief appearance and then abruptly vanish."

"You sound relieved."

"I will be, when it's over."

"I would like to be there, to support you."

"I appreciate the thought, but it is a Friday night," Erik stated. "I understand."

"The president of the synagogue could lead the service again."

Erik picked up his bag and headed toward the door. "Ready to go?"

Daniel nodded. "Thank you for agreeing to come."

Erik nodded soberly. "But perhaps you might do me a favor?"

"Of course."

"Once we have passed the city limits, tell me everything about the person following you," Erik suggested, leaning past him to open the door. "As well as the real reason why."

Daniel held his gaze and sighed. "It's not a very nice story."

Erik picked up his coat and stepped into the hall. "I doubt that anything you can say you surprise me."

_**MEG circled stage left,**_ fanning herself in an effort to cool herself beneath the lights. Like the other dancers she was sweating and hot after nearly two hours of rehearsing. The stage crew now took their opportunity to work on getting everything in order for the upcoming dress rehearsal, already moving props above as they hurried along the scaffolding. Glancing up and hoping that no accidents might ensue, she was startled to see Raoul standing there dressed as Don Juan. Christine came to his side, but wearing her street clothes. Meg backed against the curtain to watch them covertly, unable to forget another Don Juan who had stood in that same spot with her. Focusing her attention on Raoul instead, she reminded herself that the past was forgiven. Still, why was Raoul the only one in dress costume, she wondered. Could it be to remind everyone that he was now the lead, not the one who was upon the minds of most of the opera company and whose name was whispered when they thought Raoul would not overhear? As she gazed up at him she was filled with a sense of dread that he would try to replace the one the world seemed to be waiting for instead: the phantom of the opera. She turned away and closed her eyes, grasping the chair at her side as she tried herself to bring him back. But for quite another reason.

Still, Erik haunted them all, for they had all felt the lure of his attraction. From the moment he came from behind this very curtain for the first time, Erik's powerful voice and presence both threatened and captivated. It had only taken him a few moments to become Paris's latest obsession, and in the months following his debut as Don Juan it had only grown and spread far beyond the city. Now, as opening night drew nearer, anticipation was high that he would indeed return. It was the main object of conversation and filled the newspapers with reports of fake sightings and even a few copycat phantoms. Judging by the volume of mail pouring into the office from all over the world he was still making a fortune for the Opera, even without showing his face. Three first three months of _Don Juan _were already sold out, yet opening night was also a main focus of the government's attention. Fire, police and military representatives swarmed the building on most weekdays inspecting and issuing permits in the effort to accommodate the anticipated crowds. Gendarmes and extra security marshals were already stationed at different outposts near the opera house, while every performer and staff person rushed to ready things for opening night.

Lifting her head and studying her fellow performers, she could see their tension and unease. Nerves were on edge and emotions tightly strung, for this was where he would appear, right in their midst. Everyone knew it, though no official word had been issued. Some believed he would come with vengeance toward not only Christine but also them, the only family he had known but had driven him away. Some believed his time of exile would soften his heart and cause him to see the error of his ways. They hoped he would return instead to judge how _Don Juan _would be performed, which is why many a critical eye was cast upon Raoul. So it was assumed that the phantom would not fade into memory, at least not without his formal resignation. Despite his well publicized outrage toward Raoul and Christine, as well as his willful destruction of the theatre, he had nevertheless gained an astounding number of admirers. Equally large was the crowd hungry for their own revenge, those who considered him a threat to society, hating his deformity and longing to see him rot in prison or even better, torn apart and silence forever.

Meg shuddered, staring up at Raoul again. She doubted he even realized the unique challenges he faced in attempting to take Erik's place. His expression was confident as he stood proud and self assured, eager to lure the opera world's attention away from the phantom to himself. As he warned his voice with practice scales, she listened as objectively as she could. Forced to admit he was a talented and professional vocalist, she had to admit that still…something was missing.

Sitting down to flex her feet and ease the soreness from them, she heard Christine's voice join his as they practiced the "The Point of No Return," the one cut short by her unmasking of Don Juan. Gazing up at them, Meg also had to admit that they looked perfect for each other; even more importantly, they sang well together. As they journeyed through the song however the highly seductive climax of the opera was lacking in certain qualities Meg wondered how the audience could not help but notice. And, if the unenthusiastic applause coming from the company was any indication, they had cause to worry. Yet Raoul lifted Christine's hand and kissed it before he led her toward the stairs, effectively declaring rehearsal over. With their heads high, they seemed oblivious to anything but each other's company. Throwing a troubled look toward Monsieur Reyer, she saw that he was staring at her with a sad frown. When their eyes met he shook his head and tapped his baton, calling the orchestra back to the overture. Meg knew his devotion to rehearsal far outweighed the vocalists' and was somewhat reassured that the orchestra at least would properly satisfy the phantom's standards. She sighed as she laced up her pointe shoes again, thinking back to their earlier rehearsal of her solo, held before the rest of the company reported for their rehearsals.

"Don't worry, Monsieur Reyer," she had assured him, comforted by the fact that he was one of the few people who seemed to have guessed about her relationship to Erik. "The orchestra has improved even more than last time—he will be very pleased."

"We have labored exceedingly hard," he had nodded somewhat nervously. "That much he will discern."

"You have always exceeded his expectations," she had encouraged. "Even better, you seem to anticipate his wishes."

"I plan to rely heavily upon that understanding, if we are not distracted by the crowd," he had worried. "But I do trust he will handle them with characteristic finesse—_oui,_ Madame?"

Now, as she pulled herself to her feet she nodded to the other dancers as they departed, hugging her understudy Michelle though it seemed to embarrass the girl. Most of the others avoided her, a product of her long absence while at the parish. As she lingered onstage waiting for her mother to finish and join her for a walk, she felt restless and frustrated. _How could Erik be managing,_ she wondered, at a loss to know what he planned for opening night. And, glancing back up at the bridge Christine and Raoul had just vacated, neither could she help but wonder how they would behave when he retook the stage. Hearing her mother's voice as she elucidated what changes needed to be made in the choreography, Meg let her mind drift back in time to the night Erik had taken over the lead.

_What was it that he had and Raoul did not?_ This she toyed with in an obsessive way, perhaps still a bit unforgiving for Raoul's interference in all their lives. As just proven, his voice was adequate though more of a tenor in range. Erik's was an entirely different voice—he was a baritone without question, though his range extended all borders she could identify. It could be frighteningly powerful yet heart breakingly gentle, gifted with perfect pitch but not classically trained. It was a voice like no other, raw with masculinity, emotionally infused, sensual and hypnotic. Raoul's singing could not inspire shivers of emotion like Erik's did, nor could it move the listener as deeply. In her mind Raoul's physique and handsome face lacked the arresting appeal Erik inspired by even a glance, and she knew that she was not the only one so affected. Raoul might perform perfectly, but Erik had a way of holding the entire audience spellbound and holding its breath, shaken to its core. It was because in a sense he was Don Juan—who better could convince the audience of desire and suffering more than the one who had experienced both? Raoul, with his pampered and leisurely lifestyle, would never be able to convey the depths of suffering and emotion Erik could.

Toying with the fine chain holding her wedding band hidden within the folds of her neckline, she brushed her fingertips over its fine details and decided that worrying about the premiere was a useless task. Instead, she tried to imagine Erik shopping for the band, wondering where he could have gone to find such a unique design. He'd had so little time, not even enough to spend one night with her, yet getting her a wedding band was something he had nevertheless chosen to do. Though she deeply regretted not lying in his arms again after so long, she understood why he had chosen the time to send her flowers and purchase this particular ring. It was not only to make a set with the jeweled one he had given her at their wedding, but to tell her that just as their relationship far surpassed the one with Christine, so did this ring. It symbolized so much more than the plain gold band he had given to Christine and forgotten, as apparently so had Christine. 

As if on cue, Christine's laughter floated across the stage toward her, and Meg turned her head to see where she stood. Of course it was next to Raoul, with her face glowing with happiness. They were discussing something with the managers, bending their heads close as they spoke. Meg was tempted to pull out her ring and place it alongside the other, for despite its brilliance no one had dared to mention its sudden appearance upon her finger. Somehow she sensed that Christine had something to do with the silence concerning her engagement ring, and as she stared at her Meg grieved the loss of her friend. Raoul wound his arm around Christine's waist, and she rested a delicate hand upon his shoulder, leaning into him.

Meg was flooded with unexpected jealousy, wanting to flaunt her marriage to Erik as much as Christine flaunted hers, yet she would not endanger Erik's safety or her own by doing so. For now their marriage must remain a secret despite the whispered gossip and mocking laughter she heard about him. Until he publicly resigned his role as the phantom, she would have to be patient.

Sensing that someone was watching her, she turned her head and saw her mother's disapproving frown. Mme. Giry did not look pleased, and her nod toward Raoul and Christine communicated an unmistakable message: _Stop glaring at them! Never let them see how they have hurt you—do not give them the satisfaction!  
_  
Smoothing her features into a sweet smile, Meg swept into a graceful bow of acknowledgement, earning a tight smile back. They had discussed her need to forgive Raoul and Christine, as Erik had. Though her mind laid hold of the decision her heart had not yet followed. Their efforts to destroy her marriage cut deeply, as did their behavior which seemed to indicate that Erik had ever existed at all. The prospect of their enjoying success and fame at his expense was unjust, and it angered her. But she kept hearing her mother's admonition to make the best of a bad situation and follow through until Erik was finally free.

"Erik needs you here, petite, and he needs you to be strong!" her mother had lectured. That, she had to admit, was the only thing keeping her from resigning her position to her understudy and having nothing more to do with the production. No, she determined as she nodded to her mother, she would stay until the end, for Erik's sake. 

"_**You have a talent**_ for arriving just before dawn," Isaac said quietly, reaching up to shake Erik's hand. His eyes moved to Daniel and the others waiting behind Prince. "And with company."

"Not a beautiful young woman this time," Erik answered softly. _Not with Meg.  
_  
"You are, however, in a much better state of health," Isaac smiled, patting Prince's neck and nodding toward the others. "Friends of yours?"

"Pieter is expecting us."

"So I heard," Isaac said, turning to go open the gate for them.

Erik met Daniel's eyes as he finished whispering to Rabbi Levitsky. "He said it's farther than he imagined, and a harder ride," he translated for Erik.

"Hopefully you'll be able to find it alone, after I'm paroled," Erik stated, feeling wearier than he'd felt in days. Then he remembered Jean explaining to him that it takes weeks to fully recover from surgery. If that proved true, he should be well enough by the premiere.

The gate swung open and he nudged Prince aside, glancing behind the others as they preceded him in. They'd had little light from the moon and stars this time, and he had been forced to retrace the way twice even though Pieter had helped him memorize the route long ago. Halfway here they had been forced to outrun three highwaymen bent upon robbing them, but the horses Leger had provided for them were faster and stronger. Still the journey seemed a challenge from start to finish and he was exhausted. Following them into the stables, he kept to himself and fed Prince before taking them up to the house the back way. And it was there that Pieter had been waiting for them.

"It is good to finally meet you in person," Daniel nodded, watching his rabbi embrace Pieter as he translated for him: _Thank you, sir, for your hospitality and aid; may the Eternal reward your kindness._

Pieter bowed his head as he shook their hands. "The pleasure is ours; let me show you to your rooms."

They followed him into the house, and Erik waited to say goodbye to Daniel before he went to his old dormitory room.

"We will be having a private breakfast here at the house," Pieter told them. "Come out at 10 o'clock."

"Good night, then," Erik nodded to Daniel as he escorted the others down the hall.

"A moment of your time?" Pieter requested, touching Erik's arm. He nodded, waiting until they were standing alone in the parlor.

"We want you at the house tonight, Erik," he said quietly, "Arlene insisted. The dormitories are only for those in the infirmary—have you heard from Marguerite?"

Erik smiled tiredly, massaging the back of his neck. "We have reconciled," he informed him, "thanks to your prayers and good advice."

"Thank God," Pieter breathed, "and she is well?"

Erik nodded. "We've yet to be together more than a few moments, but after the premiere I've been given a few days' reprieve."

"Good—I'm sure you'll both need it. By the way we plan to be there, and Ben will arrive a day or two earlier to help Louise."

"She will be thrilled," Erik predicted. "I cannot thank you enough for all you've done, you and Arlene."

"Don't make this sound like farewell, Erik—we consider you part of our family," Pieter reassured him. "Now get some rest; we can talk more tomorrow."

"I look forward to it," Erik sighed, watching Pieter go toward the stairs that undoubtedly led to his own rooms above.

Once he found the last empty guest room Erik closed the door behind him, halting when he spotted the worn leather bag sitting in the center of the bed. Shifting his attention to the lantern burning low on the table by the bed, he dropped his pack onto the chair and walked over to the bed. Staring at the one he'd tossed over the cliff as if it was a ghost from his past, he judged it more torn and wrinkled than before, but somehow intact.

"Where did—?" he whispered, reaching down to flip over the outer flap. He saw something protruding from the top compartment and another note pinned to the outside; this he tore off and unfolded to read:

_Dear Erik,_

_I found this on my ride back from the conference, caught in a bush. Most of the contents were smashed on the rocks, but as you will see the more important items remain though damaged from the rain. Please forgive me for not giving it to you sooner, as well as for assuming the worst._

_I'll be there for you both on the 30__th_

_Your brother,_

_Benjamin Giry_

Astounded, Erik stared at it a moment before pulling out the second note. As he recognized Meg's handwriting he realized it must be the very one she said she had left for him at the hotel desk. Tearing it open with shaking hands he read exactly what she had indicated it contained, chiding himself for assuming the worst, as Ben said he had done. Slowly sitting down on the edge of the bed he stared at it, wondering how it had gotten into his bag. She had told him how she bribed the hotel clerk to give it to him, not knowing he'd never returned to check out of his room at the hotel. Suddenly inspired, he rummaged through the laundered clothing he had taken to Brussels and remembered how Rosalie had offered the bag to him while he was still in hospital. His nurse had laundered the dress clothes he'd been brought in wearing, so the bag had remained undisturbed all that time. He had never had any interest in examining it, but now at the bottom he found the little book Meg had presented to him on their wedding night. Bracing his hand to his forehead he was filled with remorse for flinging the bag over the cliff and vowed to break his habits of premature judgment and stubbornness. Reading her note once again he felt his heart ache with the realization that had he seen her note before he could have saved them both weeks of grief, pain and misunderstanding. 

"Meg…" he choked, resting her note atop his thigh and missing more than he'd ever missed her before. Too emotionally drained and exhausted to bother, he lay back atop the quilt without undressing. Closing his eyes, he longed to gather her in his arms and hold her, then he remembered the book. Reaching for it with one hand he pulled it atop his chest and opened it, staring at the water stained cover and afraid to see what damage lay inside. Then with a groan of regret he opened it, finding the pages stiff and wrinkled, the painted designs along the edges blurred and marred. To his relief the main sections were legible, carefully executed in her small cursive lettering.

He closed it gently and pulled himself to a sitting position just long enough to pull off his boots. Then with a mighty sigh he sunk into the welcoming softness of the mattress and closed his eyes, his hand holding the book to his stomach as he fell quickly to sleep. 

"_**No, absolutely not, it's too dangerous,"**_ Pieter warned, waving a hand to further illustrate his disapproval while Daniel translated for him. "Our government has practiced neutrality for years, and we cannot risk losing that, or else you endanger the entire operation."

"Perhaps it might best be handled by private sources," Erik agreed, though he could tell by Daniel's expression that his mind was already made up.

"The pogroms will continue unless we appeal to the surrounding nations for aid," he translated for his rabbi, who nodded at the round of protest his companions voiced.

Pieter leaned forward. "Your best approach at present is to do as Erik suggests, and I think a joint meeting with Mon. Cremieux is in order. Erik, I'm going to draft a letter for you to carry back to the Judge and we will see what we can do by gong that route."

As Daniel translated he nodded, weary from all the arguing which had ensued as soon as they ended their brunch. He needed a break but considered fleeing the room a desirable albeit unacceptable alternative. As if sensing his mood Arlene called his name and he turned his head to see her standing at the threshold, shifting her gaze to Pieter.

"I need some help?" she mouthed to him, and he nodded to first her and then Erik. Stretching his sore leg Erik rose stiffly and started after her with a muttered apology. With one glance back over her shoulder she smiled mischievously and faced forward to lead the way through the kitchen, past the larder and pantry and out to the mud room.

"You looked like you needed a reprieve," she explained without a trace of guilt.

"I am gratefully at your service, madam," he bowed. "You have proven the answer to my prayers."

She laughed, turning to face him as she pushed open the door. "Your distress, sir, was painfully obvious."

"Though I have tried I cannot seem to appreciate the fine art of dispute," he sighed. "No doubt it stems from being too long in my solitude."

"You've only a few more hours before you leave," she reminded him. "Then you and Daniel can be on your way and leave Pieter to debate to his heart's content."

"I am relieved he seems to enjoy it so."

"Yes, heartily so."

They walked across the leaf strewn yard and stopped before the wood shed. "Now then, how may I serve you—chop, stack or carry?"

"The latter, please," she begged, "just enough to fill the bin inside."

He reached for a split log and curled it inside his arm, eyeing her silently as he began loading up an armful. "All is well here, judging by the contentment in your own expression," he breathed.

"Yes, but we shall need prayer and direction to cover this new endeavor with the refugees; but that will be for a later discussion—how is my Meg?" she asked, rubbing her arms despite her thick sweater. "Pieter gave me the wonderful news that you have reconciled. Are you settling into married life by now?"

He shouted in laughter, shaking his head. "Ask me in another year," he answered, "if we've settled even by then."

"You will have," she reassured him, tilting her head to study him. "I must say you look well, Erik, bearing up under the strain."

He straightened and glanced off toward the sky, where the clouds were dark and threatening. "We are counting the days until the premiere," he sighed.

"Do you know what you will do, Erik?"

He studied her peaceful expression and nodded. "I've an idea, but it involves considerable risk."

"Can you give me a clue, so that we may pray?"

He exhaled sharply and nodded. "I hope that in laying the phantom to rest that night, the world will also know how much I love my wife..."

Arlene's face brightened and she gripped his arm. "Erik—in public?"

He nodded. "I believe that is how I've been led, but correct me if you think I'm wrong."

"No! I think that is a wonderful idea, provided you can whisk her safely away!"

"We are promised protection and a hasty retreat while the performance continues."

"Good—we will call the entire parish to pray to that end!" She stood back and crossed her arms, studying his face. "I know you'll be very happy together, Erik…there is no question about it."

He held her gaze as the door banged open. Daniel stood there a moment, his expression full of questions, but then he smiled broadly. "You can come back in, Giles—we've come to an agreement!"

Arlene slipped her hand in Erik's elbow and they headed back toward the porch. "Thank the good Lord," she breathed, glancing up at Erik with a smile.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	50. Chapter 50 Shelter

_**Chapter 50 Shelter**_

_**NOTE: **__Many thanks to Celticreeder for pointing out the fact that Erik had already "told" Meg he wanted to show her how much he loved her (Ch. 34-Renewed Vows). I'm sorry for the confusion about this--shows what rushing through a story can do. I appreciate you catching this as well as other inconsistencies – thank you all for being my beta readers ___

"There—that finishes it!" Rosalie declared, taking a step back from the two large crates. She glanced at Meg with a half smile. "That is if you can manage to part with _those_ old things."

"I don't think I can," Meg sighed dramatically, glancing up at her from beneath the drooping brim of Rosalie's old felt hat. "I've grown rather fond of this particular outfit," she added, smoothing a hand down the wrinkled front of the old green brocade coat.

"Take that horrible thing off—it was ridiculous 20 years ago and is even more so now," Rosalie ordered, marching to the small pile Meg had salvaged. "That applies to everything else you've got here—"

"How can you say that?" she protested, snatching the cream colored silk blouse from her hand. "Some of these are lovely—at least let me have this one?"

"All right, but not that coat," Rosalie protested. "The hat might do with a little pressing—but hurry, the men are coming for these crates at any moment."

"It's wonderful of you to donate these to the shelter," Meg breathed, getting up from her chair to unbutton the coat. She turned to the mirror to pull off the hat and smooth her hair, pausing when something distracted her in the mirror. Holding her breath she saw a faint shadow flit across the edge of her reflection. By the time she blinked it had already vanished, yet still she gazed into the mirror, seeing beyond its surface and into her own memories.

"Every year I clean out my closets and give away whatever wasn't worn," Rosalie commented; "charity is good for the soul."

Imagining how Christine must have felt the first time she'd seen Erik in her mirror, Meg put herself in that position, feeing both alarmed and excited. What if it had been her to attract Erik's attention first? But it had not been her. Still, she was overcome with the sense that Erik was watching her, luring her.

"What's wrong?" Rosalie interrupted, her gaze meeting hers in the mirror. "You look as pale as a ghost!"

"It's, nothing," Meg breathed, turning to face her and seeing her disapproving frown. "It's just that I thought I saw a shadow…the phantom of the opera seems to be on my mind—"

"Erik, here?" Rosalie gasped. "But that's impossible—"

"I know," she admitted with a hesitant smile. "I miss him so badly that sometimes I think he's here, watching me, or at least I want him to be."

Rosalie came closer, studying her critically. "I worry about you even more than I do him…this isn't normal, your being apart so much."

"No, it's not," Meg sighed, turning away as she pulled off the coat. "My imagination is just playing a trick on me."

"Something must be done to get you two together," Rosalie said thoughtfully, helping her pack the clothing into the crate. "Especially with the premiere only a few days away."

"I just wish I could see him, and maybe try to encourage him," Meg admitted. "Even Leger seems concerned for his safety."

"You need each other in times like these," Rosalie nodded. "Especially when it is all over."

"I can hardly wait," she sighed. "Just to be given a few days alone together…it would be wonderful."

Rosalie slid the cover over one of the crates and leaned against it. "Why wait?" she thought aloud, glancing toward the other, then toward the clothing still needing to be packed. Holding out her hand, she beckoned to Meg. "Come here a moment."

"I'm sorry, I haven't been much of a help—"

"Get in," Rosalie said quietly, ignoring her wide eyed stare. "Just humor me?"

Remembering how she used to play dress up and other games in this very room, Meg obeyed. "Hide and seek?"

"No, something better—here, let me help you."

"What are you talking about?" Meg laughed, planting a hand on her shoulder as she lifted her leg over the crate and climbed in. Seating herself amid the clothing, she sniffed its musty scent as she looked up expectantly. "Now what?"

"It's the perfect ruse," Rosalie declared, shoving aside the clothing. "Lie down and bend your legs up—I knew it! You fit and no one will even guess you're in there."

"What are you planning?" Meg laughed despite her doubts concerning Rosalie's plans. "Shipping me to Erik's quarters?"

"No, too risky," Rosalie whispered, pushing her down. "But Esther told me he checks with the shelter every time he returns from a trip."

"Esther? How do you know—"

"She started coming to the temple a while ago; we had a clothing donation day there which she made very successful. They need all they can get with the poor of Paris and now Jewish refugees coming into the country from the pogroms—"

"But I cannot interfere with Erik's or Esther's work—"

"They won't know, you'll be in disguise—here, put on this wig, and that old brown coat. It will attract less attention than the green one."

Meg paused with the wig between her hands, gazing up at her and beginning to consider the idea. It would be a way to surprise Erik and maybe with Esther's help she could stay a little while down in the shelters, just to see him. Still, he might get angry at her taking the risk, which would only cause more trouble. "…I wouldn't dare," she said softly, more to convince herself than Rosalie.

"Of course you would!" Rosalie declared, shoving the wig down onto her head.

Meg reached up to tuck her hair out of sight. "What about Maman—she'll wonder where I've gone."

"I will tell her—we have been commiserating about your problem for days so I am sure you will have her blessing."

Meg pulled on the brown coat which was huge, laughing at herself but so desperate to see Erik again she could not deny that it was a brilliant idea. "Do you really think it might work?"

"Of course it will," Rosalie hissed just as the door bell rang downstairs. After a moment's pause she began to cover her with clothing. "Now hurry, we haven't much time!"

_**Erik crossed the street **_without glancing back toward the stables, hoping that by now Daniel had safely traversed the tunnel leading from there to the basement of the synagogue. Keenly aware of the need to do nothing out of habit, he rushed down a back street intending to hire a carriage to take him across the city toward the opera house. Leaving Prince at the stables instead of riding would afforded him the anonymity of public conveyance and hopefully attract less attention to whomever might be interested in his comings and goings. Someone had been following Daniel even before their journey to the parish, and upon crossing back into France shots had been fired at them, nearly missing both of them. Of course there were always threats when traveling across the country, but as he jogged through the park under cover of the trees and bushes he faced the reality of his situation. Whether coincidence or not, he could no longer afford to ignore the warnings being given him. Though the opera mob hadn't captured him and the street rioting hadn't stopped him, several other factors weighed heavily against long life, in his estimation. His parole work was secret and unpredictable, and judging by the bullet hole in his coat sleeve, suddenly even more of a threat. Judging by the shrine spread out in his honor, his newly formed fan base was dangerously devoted to his return, yet so far seemingly unaware of his proximity. The heightening security measures being implemented for opening night were at best troubling, and even if he survived it he still had months of unpredictable and risky work ahead of him.

At the sound of a carriage he turned and veered out of the brush onto the sidewalk, raising a hand and slowing his steps. The streetlights illuminated him enough to cause it to slow down and stop, and he gave the address with two folded notes to the driver before climbing in. Shutting the door after himself, he sank back into the upholstery, catching his breath and more awake than he'd been in days. As they moved down the boulevard he stared out the window, missing Meg and counting the hours until the premiere when they could see each other again. Though he would have given anything to spend one night with her before the premiere, he knew that her safety was more important. He had to stay away for her own good, especially now that he seemed to be attracting even more risky attention. His only consolation in waiting to see her was that he would be too busy for feeling lonely and just a bit sorry for himself.

"I am a married man alone again," he sighed, patting the folded documents Arlene had sewn into the lining of his coat. These were to dictate his first task upon arriving at the tunnels: to ask Aaron to find out where Cremieux lived. Once he knew he was to deliver them in person at his earliest opportunity. They were the product of the argument Daniel and the Russians had presented to Pieter, eventually convincing him to agree to designating the parish a place of asylum for the Jewish refugees fleeing the anti Semitism in the north. A plan had been drawn up and notarized, one copy of which was already on its way to being filed with the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg. They hoped that with Cremieux's influence their efforts in France would be legally anchored to those who had fled there. All this had to be accomplished without Leger or anyone else finding out, at least until it had been secretly approved. They had unanimously elected him to deliver a copy to the politician's residence, preferably under cover of darkness.

Erik leaned his chin upon his upraised hand, staring out at the relatively calm streets. Yet he knew that at this very moment entire villages were being massacred and burned, their residents buried secretly in mass graves. Had he not known his life would have been far less complicated, and he wondered how Inspector Leger would take the news of their recent involvement. He suspected Judge Miller in having a hand in the business and almost felt sorry for Leger being used as a pawn, just as he was. Staring at the elegant homes and buildings of the better sections of Paris, he nevertheless vowed to do what he could to balance whatever inequalities and injustices he encountered, at the same time mourning the loss of his much more isolated and quiet world beneath the opera house.

"'_**s good,"**_ Meg sighed, careful to disguise her voice as well as her face by keeping her head down. Curling her hands around the welcome warmth of the bowl she lifted it to her lips again, grateful for Rosalie's old hat shielding her eyes. Nibbling at the stew, she chewed thoughtfully and watched Esther nod at her compliment before turning to ladle another helping into an elderly woman's bowl. Huddled together on the plank benches, she leaned her elbows onto the wooden tabletop as they did and ate in virtual silence. Dinner was later than usual tonight, having only just been delivered from a local restaurant where the leftovers were thankfully passed on to the less fortunate instead of discarded. She stole glances at the children at her table, noting that even the older ones looked tired. They ate slowly and unenthusiastically, the younger ones yawning their way around the day old rolls grasped between their hands. Not having eaten in hours, her own stomach growled and demanded more but she contented herself with her portion, not wanting to risk drawing attention to herself. Not yet…

Since climbing from the crate to find herself in the same storage room where she and Erik had argued and reconciled, she had quickly blended into the crowd of residents filing in for the night. All around her she heard languages she did not understand, but many were French citizens. How many times had she passed these same people, she'd wondered, too caught up in her own thoughts to even notice? But now, putting herself in their place, she realized how much she had taken for granted, lacking the proper appreciation for the simplest blessings of daily life—food and shelter.

"Eat up, everyone," Esther called out, snapping her thoughts back to the present. Meg watched her begin to take away the empty plates, carrying them toward the stove and installed sinks to add to all the empty pots of stew. Saul had risen from his place three tables away from hers and began to help. Praying he would not recognize her, she bent lower over her bowl and hurried to finish.

"Lights out in half an hour," he announced, motioning to the other children she remembered from the parish, the same ones now registered in her dance class.

An elbow jabbed into her side and she swung her gaze around, glancing down at the apple the old woman held out to her. "Trade?" she asked, eyeing Meg's roll.

She nodded and passed it to her, stuffing the apple into her coat pocket. The woman began to get up, gripping her shoulder to balance herself until she stood. Not thinking that she wanted any sympathy, Meg just sat there, listening to her shuffle off toward the women's cots. The woman at her other side turned and she passed along her empty bowl, rising to follow the other woman's lead. She found her row, once again breathing her thanks that she had been able to find a cot near the exit. It was hidden in the shadows and marked the edge of the screened in area, but best of all she had a view of the corridor and could watch for Erik's return. _If he actually did return tonight,_ she worried.

Sitting down upon her cot, she drew off the old scarf borrowed from the storage room, folding it with great care and placing it beneath her pillow. Though she had listened intently for even the whisper of his name, she determined to remain here until she found out what she could about him. There had been a brief disagreement between Esther and Saul earlier concerning someone named Giles, but so far she had heard of no one else, not even Aaron. Perhaps they were out together, she mused, somewhat comforted that Erik was not working alone.

_Where are you, Erik?_ she wondered, pulling off the old brown coat that had once been Jean's. Beneath it she wore a baggy jacket of his which now bore mouth holes. Beneath that was an old dress of Rosalie's which brushed her shins and the tops of her own black lace up boots. Despite several layers of oversized clothing she shivered in the dampness, glancing up at the high ceiling of the great room and trying to imagine how anyone might even consider calling this place home. But at least it was not as bad as living out on the streets,she reasoned.

"Lights out," Esther called just as they were dimmed to near darkness. She had been only vaguely aware of the others passing among the screens separating the men from the women and children, and as a hush fell over the crowd she lowered herself to the cot and drew up her legs, reaching over to pull the blankets to her chin. She kept the hat on and turned her head toward the corridor, her eyes wide open.

"You're new," a voice said quietly, and she looked up to see Esther standing at the edge of the dressing screen, one hand gripping its frame. "I haven't noticed you here before—what's your name?"

Meg stiffened, then sat up, turning to face her as she came to sit on the opposite cot. The others were empty, and she guessed that staying away from the others made her stand out.

"Shy, are we?" Esther smiled, and Meg glanced toward the line of women waiting to wash up. Now was the moment to reveal herself, but as quietly as possible.

"Don't you recognize me?" she replied softly, lifting her chin to allow the dim light to fall upon her face.

"I'm sure _you_ know the answer to that question," Esther chuckled, as if she were accustomed to it.

Feeling guilty for having to approach her in this way, Meg reached up and drew off the hat. "It's me, Esther."

She stiffened in response. "How do you know my name?" she whispered, peering at her suspiciously.

"We've met before," she said, not wanting to further alarm her.

Esther shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I don't recogniz—

"You were at my wedding," Meg hinted, waiting and smiling hesitantly. To her surprise three men came along the corridor and entered the room, pausing there to whisper to each other. One of them was Aaron. Esther glanced over at him, but only for a moment.

"Wedding?" she breathed, "why I haven't been to a wedding since—"

"Marguerite," Meg announced, brushing back the bangs of the wig.

"What?" she hissed, glancing toward Aaron, who was deeply involved in conversation. "Why are you here, dressed like that?"

Meg reached for her hand and squeezed it, locking eyes with her. "Missing my husband," she confessed in a whisper. She watched Esther's face light with understanding, and to her great relief she nodded.

"He seems to miss you terribly," she whispered back, glancing toward the men once again. "But I'm not sure this is the way—"

"When do you expect him back?"

"They don't tell me much, but Saul overheard them say he's late," she whispered, carefully releasing Meg's hand so they would not look like they knew each other. "He worships the ground Erik walks upon, my nephew."

"Please, Esther—I need your help," she pleaded, glancing at the men. "I must see him in private, in his old quarters. Can you just let him know I'm waiting there? That's all, and I promise to stay in this disguise."

"No one must know about you two, especially not here," Esther warned. "All kinds of people come here, and though we are careful to question them, we cannot be sure they aren't a threat—"

"Please, just tell him where to meet me? We've no other place to go, with the guards everywhere."

Esther looked troubled, but after a moment she nodded. "All right, if I can manage to get to him. But you had better go there now and wait, and make sure Aaron doesn't see you!"

"Thank you—"

"Wait—if I cannot let him know then I will leave a note for you saying so."

"Where? Do you know the way to his old quarters?"

"No, I cannot afford to get lost down there—in the wall by the torch is a hole where I can put the note. We once used it for maps but gave up exploring with all the police cordons and blocking it off."

"I'll check there if he doesn't come before noon tomorrow," Meg nodded, watching Esther get up. She pretended to lie down to sleep as Esther covered her with her blanket, glancing nervously toward the men. "And I really appreciate your help," she added.

But Esther was already leaving her section and heading toward the men. With a soft sigh of relief, she turned her attention back to the corridor and waited for the right moment to sneak out.

"_**Where have you been—**_I was just about to report you missing!" Aaron hissed, turning his back to the main room as he stepped further down the corridor at Erik's gesture.

"There's no time," he whispered back, his eyes scanning the occupied cots. To his relief, everyone seemed to be asleep except Aaron and Esther, who was already spooning dinner for him into a bowl. "We have a new problem: I need you to get me some information as soon as possible."

"What kind of information?"

"An address," Erik answered, looking toward the men's section for Saul. "The home of that politician, Cremieux."

Aaron shrugged. "Going for dinner?"

"A delivery," he answered, patting his coat. "Your nephew should be eager for the task, by your leave of course."

"Why not his office instead?"

Erik smiled knowingly. "This is too important for his office, and I cannot risk anyone else seeing it."

Aaron tilted his head suspiciously. "Leger know about this?"

Erik nodded to Esther's gesture for him to wait. "I hope not…this is bigger than he."

"Saul can do it, but come in and rest until he gets back—"

"I cannot stay here where I might be recognized," Erik decided. "I'll be in my old quarters to catch up on my sleep. I'll come here mid afternoon for the information."

"Good idea," Aaron smirked. "Even _we _don't know the way there," he whispered as Esther came up to them.

"We need to send Saul out," Aaron told her quietly, leaving them alone as he went to summon the boy.

"Good," she replied, smiling at Erik. "That boy is far too restless to wash pots and pans…as long as it's not dangerous?"

"He should be able to slip in and out of City Records before dawn," Erik smiled.

"Good—here's your dinner," Esther whispered, extending a wrapped box toward him. "I didn't think you'd stay in one place long enough to eat it."

Erik nodded toward the inner tunnels apologetically. "I won't be far—thank you." He took the box only to feel her withhold her end from him. Puzzled, he noted her quick glance after Aaron before she looked up at him.

"She's waiting for you down there," she whispered, releasing the box and patting his upper arm in goodbye. "I told her not to—"

"It's all right," he whispered back with a curt bow. His eyes held hers a moment before he turned and headed toward that direction, his mood considerably lifted.

"I heard my name before," Saul whispered, coming to her side and gazing after Erik. "He has a job for me, doesn't he?"

Esther turned him away and reached for his coat. "Make sure you are very careful," she whispered, meeting Aaron's gaze. He looked suspicious and she knew she would have to explain about Meg. But that was only for when they were lying close together, once she sent Saul off.

_**She looked up from brushing her hair, **_her eyes meeting his as she froze, her hand holding the brush aloft. Too afraid to breathe for fear that he might awaken and find it only a dream, Erik stared at her with pounding heart. She was wearing his silk robe, which parted to reveal a pale peach chemise beneath. Swallowing hard, he stared in disbelief at the vision she presented, sitting half undressed and on his bed. _Waiting for him…_

Standing motionless just inside the secret entrance to his bedroom, he watched her slowly get up, her eyes never leaving his. The brush dropped limply from her hand as he lowered his gaze to the delicate bend of her knee while she lifted it from the mattress. His robe slipped off her left shoulder and her hair slipped over her breast as she started toward him. In his gaze he told her how much he had missed her, how glad he was to see her, and how he wanted to hold her again in his arms. He watched her eyes fill with liquid and then she was running toward him, but not before he surged forward and caught her in his arms.

Their coming together swept him with waves of joy and desire as she jumped up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, lifting a hand to the back of his head to pull him down for her kiss. He moaned with pleasure, drinking deeply from her lips and tasting fresh apples as he kissed her hard and deep. Hungrier for her than he had ever felt before, he took several moments to obey her silent command. Then leaning back, he pulled her tighter against him, dropping his face to the side of her neck and kissing her soft skin, breathing in the warm fragrance that was hers alone. She sighed out his name, sliding her fingers into his hair as she caressed his face and chest. Carrying her toward his bed he stood her atop the quilt and buried his face against her chest, kissing her through her silky chemise and sliding his hands up and down her back. She tugged at his coat with one hand and held his head in place with the other.

"I had to see you," she panted, kissing the top of his head and managing to pull his coat off one shoulder. "Please don't be angry…"

Laughing against her softness he managed to lift his head to look up into her mischievous smile. "I am everything but angry," he said thickly, reaching back to pull off his coat with her aid. "Would that I be greeted in such a manner every day and night."

She bent to kiss him meaningfully, her hands working along the buttons of his shirt. "That could be arranged, sir," she whispered, turning her attention to the base of his throat where he felt her lips tease his skin. Shuddering with pleasure, he gave up undressing himself and started to peel his robe from her shoulders.

"I've no objections—ah!" he grunted as she pinched the muscle over his chest and shoved his shirt off. Sweeping an arm around her back he scooped her up into his arms and bent his knee into the mattress to place her on the bed, shifting his leg over hers as she tugged him down atop her.

"Hurry," she breathed, laughing softly as he struggled with his pants.

"I'm trying," he chuckled, frustrated until he could finally mold himself against her, careful to balance his weight upon his bare forearms.

"We've waited too long already," she sighed, winding herself around him in a full body embrace.

He dipped his head and kissed her neck as she sighed and stretched back into the pillows, her fingers digging possessively into his back. And then their only conversation was with each lingering gaze and cherishing touch, completed only when they were drowsy with love and already half asleep in each other's embrace.

_**She cried silently**_, holding his head against her neck as he slept soundly in her arms. The tears slid slowly down one cheek and melted into his pillow as she closed her eyes in thanksgiving. It had taken a long time to satisfy their hunger for each other, and as she tightened her arms around his shoulders she wondered if they would even have another night like this, to be together. His return had opened every emotion she'd kept hidden inside, including all her fear about the future and being separated from him again. She worried without knowing why she did so, for her mind was lecturing her on the power of faith and trust and that they both knew their future was not in their own hands. But still she could not seem to help herself.

He stirred and nudged his lips against her ear in a lazy half kiss, sliding his leg toward the edge of the bed and falling back into a sound sleep. She could sense the tension in him the moment she had seen him standing there where she'd left the mirror pulled aside, only half covering the entrance to the tunnel. Something had happened to delay him so long, and the bullet hole in his jacket sleeve spoke volumes to her deepest fears. Consumed with desire but also checking every centimeter of him confirmed that he was unharmed, but still she worried. As if sensing her fear he stirred again, moving to his side as he snaked an arm around her waist and took her with him. She closed her eyes at the delicious warmth of his skin along her back as he held her facing away from him. Stretching her head back, she languished in his embrace even while he slept, gently tracing her fingertips along the soft hairs sprinkled lightly over the forearm he braced around her. Sliding her feet tentatively down his shins, she sighed and closed her eyes, comforted by his protective embrace and deep breathing. And once again, she began to see the faint outline of a little boy in her sleep.

_**Erik awoke to the soft sound of water,**_ lifting his head and trying to shake the groggy feeling that gripped him. Staring at the empty side of the bed and the disarray of clothing draped over the footrest, he heard it again and shifted his attention to the far edge of the pool, seeing a pale blur of movement. Dragging himself to a sitting position he stared out over the water, focusing on the head that bobbed up as she surfaced. He smiled sleepily, massaging the back of his neck.

"What are you doing way over there?" he called.

She laughed and blinked away the water. "Swimming, of course…come join me Erik."

He groaned but reached for his drawers, glancing up at the pile of chemise and robe he could see left on the rocks beyond. "All right, but first I must have food."

"Bring it over!" she called, stretching out to swim the side stroke he had taught her. "Is this where you learned to swim?"

"At first," he called, reaching for the box Esther had given him. As he walked around the edge of the pond he watched her do another stroke and smiled. "You're doing well."

She stopped and pouted at him, her eyes treasuring his every move. "You promised me another lesson."

"Ah ha," he chuckled, "I thought I sensed an ulterior motive."

"Then it's not the one you thought," she smiled, swimming alongside him as he walked toward where her clothes lay.

He stopped to lift a brow at her, blindly opening the box. "Really? Then you have my complete attention."

"Save for that roll," she teased, watching him bite into it and chew thoughtfully. "The stew will be good, even if it's cold."

"Is that so?" he said after swallowing, "How long _have _you been living in the shelter, if I may ask?"

"Only a few hours while I waited for _you,_" she pretended to complain. "It's shocking what a wife has to do these days, just to be with her husband."

"I agree, madam," he drawled, setting aside the stew after a quick slurp. "Perhaps we should do something to correct that," he added, starting into the water but stopping when she held up her hand.

"Why get those wet when you haven't a change of clothing?" she hinted with a smile. "I know because I checked your empty bureau."

"You are wearing my robe, sweetheart," he smiled devilishly, walking deeper into the water.

"You're not shy, are you?" she teased, batting her eyelashes at him as she backed away.

He frowned and stopped to spread his arms wide. "Me—_shy?_"

She covered her mouth with her hand as he peeled down the garment and flung it behind him, starting toward her again.

"I didn't think you were!" she squeaked when he dove toward her, swimming with powerful strokes and catching her arm as she tried to outdistance him.

He brought her laughing into his arms and kissed her hungrily. "A lesson she wants," he panted, kissing her between statements. "Before a man can have even a bite to eat—"

She cut off his words by kissing him back as she wound her arms around his shoulders. He pulled her closer, intoxicated by the feel of her body against his. He thought he would never get used to such pleasure, and thanked all that was good in the universe for such a dramatic shift in his favor.

_**He sighed emphatically, his gaze out over the water.**_ "I need to be getting back soon."

She lowered her head to his bare shoulder, tightening her arms around his waist. "Don't go."

He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I have no choice."

"We can meet here again," she suggested. "Esther will help us…"

"No, Meg," he decided, turning his head to look into her eyes. He reached up to gently tuck a damp tendril of hair behind her ear. "It's not enough, for either of us."

She sensed something troubling him, and taking his hand she stood up, tugging it until he got up. He had been sitting on the rock just below her, and for once she came up to eye level with him. Glancing down at the damp cling of his clothing, she decided he was magnificently formed, outside as well as inside. As if thinking the same thing, he pulled his hand from hers and slid it around her waist, taking her in his arms and kissing her tenderly. He sighed again and lowered his forehead to her collarbone, holding her gently.

"Erik, what is it? she breathed, hugging him fiercely. "Has something happened you haven't told me?"

"No," he sighed, pulling her close and lifting her off the rock to plant her before him. She stretched her head back to hold his gaze. "Walk with me a little; I want to show you the other side of the lake."

"All right," she smiled gently, smoothing her palm over his chest and down to grasp his hand. They started off along the trail which had led here, to the small pool, but wound around the immense cavern as it followed the water. After a moment she squeezed his hand, following the direction of his gaze out across the water. "It's the memories, isn't it?" she said softly.

He tightened his grip on her hand, not realizing how strong it was, but she would not squirm. "You always seem to know what I'm thinking," he admitted, turning his head toward her with that crooked half smile she so loved.

"I feel them too," she told him, looking past him at the wafts of mist rising from the water. "It's why I come here when you're away…at least for the good memories."

"How could you have any, down here?"

She shrugged. "At least here I feel closer to you…and you did bring me here when you first rescued me."

"I wasn't sure you remembered that."

She looked up to meet his tender gaze. "Your tenderness toward me was my only comfort from that night."

Her words seemed to astonish him, and for a moment he was speechless. "We shall have to make new memories together, in our new home."

She pulled his arm close and decided to wind her own arm around his waist. "It is a wonderful place, perfect for us."

He smiled tentatively. "I thought you would like it."

She looked up at him, studying his strong profile. In this light she could see the shadowed ridges of his repaired cheekbone and nose and restrained herself from touching them. "I'd love to hear how you managed it, but I will wait until next time."

He nodded and they walked on, feeling the moister, warmer air envelop them. The lake opened up to so wide an expanse she could barely discern the far shore. "Is this where you swim, Erik?"

"Yes, it's large enough for laps; we can swim out there, next time."

She let go of his arm and stepped onto the tiny beach, bending down to trail her hand through the water. "It's so warm here," she breathed in surprise.

He came to her side and bent to his knees, lifting a palmful of water. "It's heated by the outflow from the furnaces, offsetting the cooler temperatures of the underground streams."

She stared at him in amazement, realizing that his store of knowledge of this place was still a mystery. "I have yet to have you teach me to swim underwater, though I tried."

"You'll do fine without my instruction," he said a bit more reservedly.

Thinking it better not to press him for the reason in his change of mood, she straightened and pulled his robe back up onto her shoulder. "Well, I had better get dressed," she smiled to change the subject. "I must look a mess—"

His arm snaked around her and he held her close, his chin resting atop her head. She wound her arms around his waist and waited.

"Thank you for making new memories with me," he said softly, his breath cut with emotion. Then he squeezed her and held her so tightly she felt tears flood her eyes.

"Erik," she choked, looking up at his stern expression. But he would not look down at her.

"Don't say it," he ordered, closing his eyes and holding her.

"I won't," she croaked, kissing his chest.

They stood that way for some time, and then he loosened his grip on her and she stepped away to wipe at her eyes. But she smiled up at him, meeting his gaze and knowing what he was thinking.

_No more good byes…_

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	51. Chapter 51 Swept Away

_**Chapter 51 Swept Away**_

Erik laid a hand on the trunk of the hemlock tree, steadying himself upon the incline as he glanced up at the dark, moonless sky. With a grim frown of determination he shifted his attention back to the distant buildings and waited for his opportunity. He was cold and exhausted, having stolen only a few hours of sleep in the arms of his beloved, yet he would not have traded them for the world. Seeing her sitting upon his bed waiting for him in his old quarters had affected him deeply, giving him hope for the future. Although they had spent precious little time together he nevertheless recognized the claim she'd already made upon his heart. Whenever they made love they became closer, not only in body but in spirit as well. He could now discern her thoughts and feelings just by looking at her. And she seemed to understand him as no one else had. Previously it was something he had only read about in books borrowed from the library after closing hours, and more recently found in the scriptures he'd come to cherish and depend upon. He did not know how the joys of the flesh could also serve to strengthen his spirit, broaden his mind and soothe his emotions, but as he stared at the warm glow of light coming from Cremieux's home, he knew that he craved more. He wanted the luxury of spending more time alone with his wife in the home he had designed for her, just as Cremieux was now enjoying. But not for long. 

The lights in the carriage house finally went out, yet he waited another quarter hour. Then, testing his footing, he crept along the rise and stepped cautiously upon the lawn, pausing to scan his surroundings. Thankfully the family owned no dogs to alert them to his presence, just as Saul had reported. The elderly couple who served as servants should be already sound asleep in the carriage house, he judged. Moving silently along the side of the main house toward the back door, he thought it a modest estate for such a powerful politician, yet perhaps in keeping with Cremieux's slow climb to power from a very humble beginning. 

Praying that his arrival would cause no undue distress or harm, he toyed with the lock and quietly let himself in. As he moved toward the only lit room at the front of the house, he heard a clock chime the hour of nine, quickly ducking beneath the staircase as the door directly above him shut. Holding his breath he paused, heard nothing more and them moved on, passing along the darkened corridor until he paused just outside the parlor. For some time he waited, listening to the sound of pages turning and then a soft intake of breath as Cremieux sensed his presence. At that moment Erik stepped halfway out from the edge of the wall and waited until the man turned his head and spotted him. They stared at each other a moment before Cremieux relaxed his breathing. 

"You're very good," Cremieux complimented his intruder. "I never suspected a thing until I felt that I was being watched."

Erik pursed his lips and nodded back toward the staircase. "Will she come back down?" he whispered.

"Not a chance," the older man laughed, "and my wife is partially deaf, so you don't have to whisper," he added, getting up stiffly and moving toward his desk. "Have a seat by the fire and warm yourself—would you like a drink?"

Erik walked toward him, reaching inside his jacket to produce the packet addressed to him. "No thank you," he answered quietly, extending the envelope. "I am only here to deliver this."

Cremieux looked up from the glass he had poured, glancing at it with a frown. "Will I need this after I open that?"

Erik nodded, dropping it onto the desk. "Most definitely," he assured him, watching Cremieux take a quick swallow of what smelled like cognac.

"I'll read it by the fire," Cremieux stated, picking up the envelope as he passed by. "But I insist that you sit down—you are making me nervous."

"I cannot wait to carry back a reply," Erik said tightly, "unless of course you 'insist.'"

Cremieux chuckled, sitting down but holding his glare. "All business, aren't you? What's the matter, your own wife waiting up for you?"

Even more irritated by his attitude than the forced servitude which characterized their relationship, Erik rested his arm along the mantle and gazed down into the flames. "I'm sure you already know the answer to that," he drawled.

"If I hadn't insisted that the inspector relax his strictures, you wouldn't be allowed to see her at all," Cremieux said glibly, opening the envelope. "At least direct the blame to the right person."

Erik turned his head with a half smile. "My humble apologies, _sir_."

Cremieux looked up from the stack of documents on his lap, gesturing to the couch opposite him. "You can't affect me with your sarcasm—I'm a politician don't forget."

"Touché," Erik said with a half bow as he nevertheless slid onto the sofa. Praying that the wife would not come down and see him, he waited impatiently as the delivery was quickly examined. "I would appreciate a quick dismissal," he hinted, tapping his fingers upon the arm of the sofa.

Ignoring him, Cremieux leafed through the papers, focusing upon one. This he lifted as he glanced toward Erik suspiciously. "I suppose this was _your_ idea," he mused with a curling smile.

Knowing immediately which paper he indicated, Erik shrugged innocently. "But I am just the humble delivery boy."

"Ha!" Cremieux said, shaking his head and scanning the rest of the papers. "I've heard of Pieter deGraaf, who's been involved in this kind of thing for some time," he replied. "He's never approached this subject, to my knowledge. The rabbi, though intelligent and promising, is too inexperienced to have formulated this, and never was a refugee himself."

Eager to leave, Erik decided to cooperate. Moving to the edge of his seat, he laced his gloved fingers together. "You might blame the older rabbi and his comrades, rather than credit me."

Cremieux looked up to study him critically. "They would have had to been politicians or professors at the very least…no, this is clearly your style."

"And why might you think that?"

"It's a bit too emotionally charged, written from the viewpoint of someone well acquainted with the injustices of society."

"Pieter's attorney is very capable," he hinted.

"Admit it—the suggestions are undoubtedly yours!"

Erik smiled, insisting on maintaining the anonymity enforced upon him. "I admit to nothing except my intense desire for a warm bed and some sleep." 

"I know you wrote most of it—I've reviewed all the documentation you sent to Leger from the parish."

"What does it matter who wrote it?" Erik indicated with mounting frustration. "The point is who will _do_ something about it?"

Cremieux held his accusing stare and sighed tiredly, leaning back against his seat. "You're right, and I should have done something sooner…apparently my long career in politics has shifted my focus to a much smaller scale."

Erik got up and faced the fire, pulling off his gloves to stretch his cold hands toward it. "Any of us might be guilty of the same thing," he replied, thinking of his own former preoccupation with himself.

"I'm getting too old for this sort of thing, and the constant battling wears one out," Cremieux complained.

"I know exactly what you mean," Erik agreed, turning and pulling on his gloves. When he looked up it seemed that Cremieux was lost in thought, staring into the fire. "Your decision?" he prompted.

Cremieux glanced up at him. "I will consider it."

Taking that as his cue to leave, Erik nodded and went to the threshold. There he paused and turned. "If there had been any other way, I would not have disturbed you at your home."

"I realize that," Cremieux said with a wave of his hand. Setting aside the papers, he got up and led him out into the corridor, escorting him to the door as if he were a visitor. "As for your own situation, you should take comfort in the fact that all these trials and tribulations might someday result in a world wide aid organization."

Erik paused at the door, letting him reach past him to open it. "If that is the case, then I will—now, if you will excuse me?"

Cremieux stood at the door watching him slip back out into the darkness. By the time he had crossed the yard Erik regretted his harsh manner with the man, realizing that had he been in the same position he probably would not even have considered being part of the plan he'd just literally deposited into his lap. Time would tell whether he could pull together both Leger's and Daniel's work, thus strengthening it and use his position to pressure the proper authorities into ceasing their campaign of violence. With that sober thought, he crept down the slope which led back to the cul de sac. The matter needed much prayer, he decided, and committed himself to that end. As he headed back toward the synagogue, he thought of Meg alone in their house and sighed, resigned to a few more days' work and another trip to the parish until he could see her again.

_**Stretching lazily**_ and smiling, Meg slowly awoke to memories of her last hours with her husband. Feeling rested for the first time in many days, her body sang with quiet satisfaction and the knowledge that it was all because of Erik. Sliding an arm beneath his untested pillow she drew it close, pretending it was him. With a half contented sigh she gazed at the sunlight streaming in through the window opposite their bed, yawning and tightened her arms around it. Willing him to come back, she consoled herself with thoughts of the future, when she envisioned them eating breakfast in bed, as well as thoughts of the past.

After a late breakfast at the shelter for which they had disguised themselves in order to blend into the crowd of homeless, Erik had managed to catch up with news of its operation from Aaron and Esther. He had to do it piecemeal, and while he did so she had tried to thank Esther for her help in allowing them to be together. Smiling her thanks across a crowded table, she knew Esther understood. And later, helping to clean up, he was able to get close enough to Saul to tug his sleeve in silent greeting, earning only a puzzled frown from him. Esther caught him later and whispered to him, no doubt explaining who she was. Then Erik gave her a signal to precede him and wait for him at the stables and she started for the tunnel, nodding her thanks to Aaron as covertly as possible. She hoped that she had not offended him by trespassing the lines of his authority, trusting Erik to explain her motive and also hopefully ease any rift her coming may have caused between Aaron and Esther.

Now, tracing the scalloped edge of the pillow cover, she missed Erik with something akin to pain. She could not argue with his insistence that she spend the night alone here in their new home, for outside Leger's men were guarding the premises as covertly as possible. With the premiere only days away, security at the opera house was even more stringent and several people had to be escorted off the grounds for trespassing. Erik had even hired them a carriage from a different part of the city, and on their drive here they had removed their borrowed coats disguises. He led her around the back of the property through the woods, letting them in through the sunroom entrance where they would not be seen from the street. 

Toying with a tendril of her hair she blushed at the memory of their arrival, still picturing him unlocking the back door and sweeping her off her feet to carry her inside, as if she were a new bride. Once inside she had done all she could to convince him to stay, bringing them closer to another breathtaking encounter but he had groaned with regret, dislodged her hands from his neck and insisted upon leaving. Not in the least bit guilty, she nevertheless had to bend to his iron will and superior strength and let him go. But not before he'd set her down upon the countertop and stepped between her legs. 

"Another time, my love," he breathed against her lips, pausing to caress her and bestow upon her a farewell kiss filled with promise of his eager return. Then all too quickly he had turned and let himself out, locking the door behind him and leaving her to catch her breath and watch until he vanished from sight. The rest of her lonely afternoon had been spent exploring the home he had designed for her. The care and attention to detail he'd invested in each room thrilled her, making her feel cherished and loved. Most of all, the dance studio stood out as his crowning achievement, for in it she could envision private tutoring and classes, a livelihood she had always dreamed of. Running her fingertips across the keys of the baby grand piano that dominated one corner, she smiled and saw herself dancing for his eyes alone while he played for her. 

Suddenly unable to stand the vacuum his leaving had created, she sat up and shimmied to the side of the mattress, lowering herself from the platform as she drew the curtain halfway around the bed. As she changed into a day dress, she planned on at least two hours of practice for _Don _Juan and the special choreography intended for "Meg's Song." After that she would take a bath, have a late supper alone and wait for her ride back to the opera house in the morning. As for Erik, he would be busy with whatever tasks Leger had for him, and when he was free then would spend the entire day before the premiere alone together in this very house.

_**Daniel lowered his head**_and quickened his pace as he walked, reciting the _shema _in a whisper: _"Hear, O Israel: The L-rd our G-d, the L-RD is one. You shall love the L-RD your G-d with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength. And these words which I command you today shall be in your heart…you shall talk of them…when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up…" _

"Excuse me sir!" a raspy voice called out, startling him even more. 

Increasing his speed, he heard the steps behind him shorten the distance between them as he continued to pray. _"And you shall do what is right and good in the sight of the L-ORD, that it may be well with you, and that you may go in and possess the good land of which the L-ORD swore to your fathers, to cast out all your enemies from before you, as the L-ORD has spoken."__1_

"I merely wish directions, sir!" the voice called, and finally Daniel dared a glance back over his shoulder.

"You speak to me?" he yelled, pointing a finger at his own chest as he kept walking. 

"I need to find the police," the man complained, running up to walk at his side. "Surely a man like _you _would know."

Daniel glanced at his lined and cruel face, revulsion swirling inside him. "You mistake me for someone else," he said tightly, quickening his pace.

"I think not," the man snarled, swerving closer as they walked.

"The police are the other way," Daniel shouted, "toward the city center."

"You know Inspector Leger," the man sneered, "you are a good citizen, no?"

"City Hall—the police are next door," Daniel complained, waving his arm in dismissal.

"Show me, then—I will pay you handsomely."

"Hire a carriage," Daniel suggested through his teeth, lengthening his stride. "And good luck." To his surprise and relief the man stopped abruptly though he walked away.

"So much for kindness to strangers!" the man sneered as Daniel turned onto a different street. "You will regret this, Jew!"

His heart pounding, Daniel jogged up the empty street, deciding that his late night meeting with Erik would have to be changed. Left with the choice to go to his parents' house as planned and risk being followed there, he decided to head for the stables, take the tunnel and leave Erik a note under his door, just to be safe. His parents would just have to conclude that he had been detained by a member of the synagogue. But he was going to send the stable boy to Leger with a report and request better security.

"Maybe I am paranoid," he whispered, laughing nervously to himself as he glanced behind but saw nothing. Perhaps it was nothing more than the usual anti Semitic encounter, not anything to do with his other work. "I should go back to yeshiva and stay there," he muttered, knowing he could no more do that than ignore the plight of his own people.

_**By late Monday**_ an icy rainstorm enshrouded the mountains, forcing them to walk their horses down from the parish to the village. Weaving silently along an alternate path which cut through the woods, Erik winced as he watched Daniel slip on the half frozen ground. Catching the end of his muttered complaint in Yiddish, he turned again to glance behind them, sensing that somehow they were being tracked. The feeling had plagued him for the past hour, yet he was relieved that they were already far below the parish and would not provide any clues for finding it. Thinking of mentioning it to Daniel he decided against it. Still shaken after his strange encounter on the streets of Paris two days ago, Daniel would only worry and that would distract him. They had delayed meeting and escorting the couple and two men who now rested comfortable in Arlene's care, but still Daniel seemed on edge, more troubled than Erik had ever noted. Perhaps he too sensed they were being followed.

Sliding on a patch of frozen moss, Erik reached out and grasped a sapling to support himself, hearing Prince's splutter of protest. Though accustomed to hard riding and the uncertain situations of his owner's circumstances, Prince was nevertheless on edge, perhaps even more eager to reach the lowlands and hurry back home than he was.

"E_asy boy_," he soothed, dropping further behind Daniel, who turned to note the change. Erik knew that by light of day he would be able to follow the trail himself, and they had already agreed to meet at the fork in the river should anything separate them. As the one more familiar with their environs, he was in charge, and Daniel's nod told him that he was now aware of the threat and would act accordingly. Turning back to concentrate on his footing, Erik watched him move closer to his mare as he continued along, leaving him free to attempt to gauge the position of whoever followed them. Praying again for Daniel's protection, Erik slowed his lead of Prince and stopped, pretending to check his foot. Lifting the left front hoof, he poked at it with a gloved finger, glancing furtively toward Daniel's back.

To his surprise something struck Daniel in the arm and Erik dropped Prince's foot. Daniel cried out in protest but scrambled to mount his mare while Erik jumped onto Prince's back. Turning toward the direction from which the rock had sailed, he rode through the trees, feeling something slam into his own arm. Out of cover of the trees he saw a rider charging toward Daniel, his black cloak waving ominously behind him. At that moment Prince veered suddenly to avoid a boulder, nearly unseating him. Clinging to the pommel, he watched the rider close in on Daniel. Hearing the sound of rushing water, Erik realized that they had ridden toward the river, and reaching for his dagger he flung it and hit the man's arm just as Daniel's horse whinnied and stumbled, throwing its rider. To his horror he saw the man pull up and slide from his own horse. Charging toward them, he saw Daniel's mare and the man's horse both canter off into the woods just as Prince delivered him quickly to their side. 

To Erik's amazement the man pulled the dagger from his arm before he struck the already faint Daniel. Lunging toward him, Erik knocked him away, noting that Daniel was unconscious. They fought fiercely, the man brandishing his own dagger as their steps took them closer to the river. Its sound was deafening, its gray white capped currents swollen from the rains. At one point the man began to run away, and chasing him through the trees brought them to the high ground just above the banks. The rain pelted them forcefully and made them both slip, but the man was faster and bigger than he anticipated. Chasing him along the ledge, Erik ducked when he turned suddenly and flung his own dagger back toward him. It buried itself in a tree trunk not too distant from his head.

Growling in anger, Erik felt his strength return despite the heavy drag of his sodden clothing. He caught up with the man and caught his hood, pulling it back off his head just before he turned and swung at him. He swung back and took a kick in the side, slipping and grunting in pain. Though the man was a head shorter he was twice his girth, obviously heavily muscled beneath his dark clothing. They fought for what seemed like hours, staggering among the trees and using their discarded branches as clubs. Bruised and bleeding, they both turned to grip each other just before the man smashed his forehead into Erik's. Dazed, Erik shoved him away just as he felt the earth give way beneath his feet. The man cried out in a strange language, catching Erik's coat as he fell backward from the ledge.

With a loud splash they fell together into the icy waters, still swinging at each other. The current shoved at their legs and Erik slipped, feeling the man's hands grab his arm as they were both embraced by the powerful arms of the current. Swept quickly along the course of the river, Erik struggled for his footing, dodging their boulder strewn path. The man slammed into one, kicking at Erik hard enough to knock him off his feet. The water was numbing his extremities but he swung back, finally separating them as the current pulled them farther apart. Grabbing at a tree that had fallen halfway across the span, Erik felt as if his arm was being torn from the socket. He watched the man drift away, he head smacking loudly against a rock before he felt facedown into the water. 

Something struck him from behind and Erik found his hold dislodged. The current shoved him toward the rocks but he kicked as hard as he could toward the middle in an effort to find deeper water and so avoid the rocks. He was swept around a bend in the river as he stroked and kicked, but to no avail. Growing weaker and shivering from the cold, he gave up fighting the current and let it take him. Several times he went below the surface only to bob up to the surface, no longer in control of his course. The rain beat upon his head, blurring his vision. He tasted blood and became aware of the wheezing of his own breath, and with one last burst of effort he lunged toward the bank at another bend in the river, praying for Daniel, then for Meg and Louise. Finally, closing his eyes in exhaustion, he added himself to his plea for mercy. 

_**"What do you mean, you've 'lost track of him'?"**_ Meg screeched, gripping Inspector Leger's arm and feeling sick to her stomach. Hating the cool gaze boring into hers, she shook him. "Answer me!"

"We are doing everything we can to reestablish contact," he assured her in that professional voice she longed to break. "As soon we hear from him we will let you know—"

"He was scheduled to meet you here yesterday," she growled, looking to Detective Gilbert for help, but he merely shrugged. "Has he ever missed an appointment before?"

Leger, to his credit, had the grace to look almost stricken with guilt. "Only one other time," he admitted quietly, gesturing to his clerk to escort her back to her office for a cup of tea.

"That's right, when the Buquet brothers held him in their cabin, so you _know_ something has happened to him!" she railed, ignoring his flinch of response. "If you're going to send him out on a dangerous assignment the least you can do is know where he is!" 

"I have already dispatched two dozen of my men, but if he has altered the plan without informing us there is nothing more we can do until he contacts us."

"That's not good enough, Inspector, and I want to know what 'plan'—"

"As you well know, the nature of your husband's work is of the utmost—"

"I don't care about that!" Meg spat, flinging his arm aside. "I want you to tell me where Erik is right now, and I'll go look for him myself—"

"Perhaps I might be of some help," a hesitant voice interrupted, startling them both. Meg whirled to face a tall, slender man who stood in Leger's door, his clothes wrinkled and his face bruised and dirty. "I was with him before he disappeared.

Leger moved between them, blocking Meg's view. "Are you all right?" he asked in a subdued voice, motioning for him to enter and Gilbert to close the door. "Has there been a change in plan?"

Meg moved between them to grab the man's arm. "You were with my husband?" she choked, noting his beard and compassionate eyes. Suddenly she gasped in recognition. "You're Rabbi Daniel—the one Rosalie told me about!"

He glanced at Leger, his expression tortured. "I searched and searched, but found no trace of him—"

"Searched where?" Leger demanded. 

"I tried to get here as soon as I could, to let you know, but I got lost—"

"Please," Meg pleaded, gripping his arm. "Tell me what happened—for two days now I've had a feeling that something is terribly wrong."

"You're his wife," Daniel said softly as if thinking aloud.

"Whatever you say must be held in strictest confidence," Leger warned him. "It's for both their good."

"I have faith that Gi—that Erik will be all right," Daniel said to her alone.

"She already knows we have men out searching the city," Leger said sternly, his disapproval evident.

"He's nowhere near here," he replied carefully, "and his wife has a right to know."

Leger sighed deeply, gesturing toward the chair by his desk. "Be as brief as possible then," he ordered. "We need to find him quickly, before anyone else does." 

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt __1__the shema is found in Deuteronomy chapter 6 of the Bible_


	52. Chapter 52 The Premiere

_**Chapter 52 The Premiere**_

Meg parted the heavy curtains just enough to peek out into the theatre, astonished by the crowds filling the opera house even up to the highest balconies. Her stomach churned nervously and she was freezing despite the heat from the stage lights. Not only was her costume immodest but skimpy, providing little protection against the drafts flowing across the backstage area toward the wings of the stage. Pulling her cloak tighter, she studied the double lines of military and security men, praying yet doubtful they would be able to control a crowd of this size, should that become necessary. Even from behind the curtain she could feel the anticipation and impatience charging the atmosphere. Everyone waited for the phantom's return, completely unaware of Erik's disappearance only days before. Still, like them, she scanned the crowd and prayed for some sign that he was indeed present tonight. Only they were looking for a masked man, not one bearing a surgically corrected face like Erik's. For once she was grateful that he had undergone the pain and trauma of surgery, only because it meant they would fail to recognize him. He had said she would know he was present, but her hopes fell as she stared out into the crowd, particularly the balcony, finally deciding that he had not come.

Dropping the curtain back in place, she turned away to scan the backstage area, telling herself it was a good sign that not a shred of evidence had been found to indicate his whereabouts. It meant that he was alive and uninjured, yet if he was well and in Paris tonight, why hadn't he contacted her? Battling despair and hope, she had even spent in fasting and prayer, yet she still wondered if she had enough faith to believe that he would come back safely, into her arms.

There was a sudden burst of activity across the stage and she spied Inspector Leger as he arrived, surrounded by at least a dozen policemen to await his orders. With him were the managers, who nodded at his instruction and hurried away to carry out his wishes. Studying him carefully, she noted his grim expression, and when their eyes met across the stage he shook his head and looked away, indicating to her "no news." With a heavy sigh she glanced up at Box 5 and saw the mayor sitting by Judge Miller, their faces set with disapproval. Other distinguished looking gentlemen sat around them, but she focused upon the judge, disliking his calm demeanor. He was to blame for insisting Erik come here and settle things, despite the threats on his life and the unpredictable crowd. She wanted to throw something and scream at him in protest, even though she knew deep down inside that he was right. The only way for Erik to let go of the past was to come here tonight, and she prayed he would find a way to do so, for both their sakes.

A hand touched her shoulder and she gasped, turning to see Ben's hesitant smile. He frowned at her slumped posture when she saw that it was not Erik.

"Are you all right?" he asked, putting his arm around her shoulders. Winding her arm around his waist she shook her head, tears once again threatening to spill from her eyes. "Don't worry," he said grimly, gazing up at the ropes and catwalks, "he'll be here."

She glanced toward the queue of police opposite them and took a deep, shuddering breath. "That's what worries me."

It had been Ben who found Daniel wandering the hills halfway between the parish and the village, she had discovered. Barging into Leger's office had been a fruitful endeavor until the young rabbi appeared, and then later her brother. Between their accounts detailing the events leading up to Erik's disappearance, she and Leger learned of the new dangers of Daniel's being followed and the importance of the people comprising the latest group of refugees to be escorted to the parish. Angered that Daniel had not informed him of being followed, Leger condemned the risk they had taken by leaving on their own, without police protection. To Ben's credit, he had felt uneasy after Erik and Daniel departed again for Paris, and took it upon himself to go after them. Thankfully Erik had shared with him the fact that they would be taking the lesser known trail through the woods, the one he'd shown Erik one day when they were out riding during his recovery. But by the time he found Daniel it was too late to help Erik, so together they retrieved Daniel's mare the stallion their attacker had ridden. But there was no trace of either Erik or Prince. Local authorities were still searching the area, but so far no trace of either man or beast had been found.

"I still think they fell into the river," Ben mused, studying Leger's stiff posture. "It's the only thing that makes sense, but because of the frozen ground we couldn't track anything."

Meg shuddered and pulled her cloak closer. "But Erik is an excellent swimmer; he could have managed, unless he was injured."

Ben shrugged. "Not necessarily—if he was dragged underwater it would have affected his recovery from the surgery."

She looked up at him in surprise, pulling away from him. "What do you mean?"

He frowned. "Water entering the sinuses or ear canal after the kind of surgery he had would pose a risk for infection, or at the very least affect his equilibrium."

"I had no idea," she choked, grabbing his hand. "Do you think he might be lying ill somewhere?"

Ben looked away, distracted by the roar of the crowd beyond the curtains. "I don't know what to think, but it might explain why no one has heard from him."

Confirming her worst fears, she closed her eyes and pictured Erik once again lying injured or ill, without her at his side. "Oh God…"

Again the crowd cheered and Ben stepped toward the curtain, peeking out at the hall. "The orchestra is filing in," he informed her.

Meg crowded closer to him and looked furtively out. She saw Mon. Reyer following the other musicians as they filed out into the hall, keeping close behind the line of guards stationed across the entire span of the stage and beyond. Gripping a black leather portfolio to his chest, he avoided looking at the crowd but appeared no more nervous than usual. He climbed his podium and set the score down upon his stand, glancing up at the curtain. Somehow, seeing him standing there gave her hope, and when he lifted his baton she suddenly felt as if everything would somehow work out. Glancing up at the fists waved in the air as the orchestra began to tune, she purposed that with her dance and the introduction of the song Erik had written for her the world would finally see the other side of her lover and perhaps understand. 

_**In the murky darkness high above**_ the levels of platforms and backdrops Erik clung to his perch, watching her every move. Though stage crew, singers and dancers crowded the floor spread out far beneath him, he had spotted her as soon as she appeared in the wings. More petite than the other dancers, her hair glowed golden in the light, her movements attesting to the grace in her carriage as she attempted to hold her head high. Narrowing his gaze, he studied the way she turned to kiss Ben's cheek before leaving his side to join the other dancers for warm up. His hungry gaze followed her arms as she lifted away her cloak to drape it over the railing before gripping the barre to begin. Feeling suddenly lightheaded he reached blindly into his pocket and pulled out the pills, popping one into his mouth as he focused upon her. Following every sweep and stretch of her body, he pretended that she was performing solely for him, not merely preparing for a performance. Not one detail of her dress or appearance escaped his notice, including the tension he noted between her lovely brows or the slight tightening of her lips despite her mask of calm concentration.

"We've parted too often," he whispered, his gaze traveling appreciatively over her shoulders and arms, "and for far too long…"

Though the dancers moved in practiced synchronization, a line of clashing colors and fabrics, he ignored the others and concentrated only upon his wife. The _Don Juan_ costume she wore was identical to theirs, risqué and alluring, inviting the lustful stares of those who had no right to look. Jealousy surged within him, making him grip the ropes more tightly. His palms began to sweat beneath the black leather gloves that were necessary for preventing rope burn when performing his acrobatics. Gritting his teeth, he watched her bend forward, shocked to note that the back of the costume was absent, accentuating the beauty of her slender shoulders and long waist, the latter framed with black and red ribbons and lace. When she pulled up and turned to rest one palm on the railing, his gaze was drawn along the lace edging that skirted the base of her shoulders and plunged dangerously low between her breasts. His mouth went dry, but a glint of light sparkled, diverting his attention to the thin gold chain caressing her neck and cleavage.

_What treasure could be suspended there?_ he wondered, his eyes following the graceful arc of her arm as it swept over her head, framing her upswept curls and jeweled hair picks.

Desire left unfulfilled burned within him, frustrating him anew by the distance and circumstances separating them. He longed to lose himself in the warm depths of her eyes, fill his lungs with her fragrance and taste her kiss. He wanted to hear the soft husky tone of her voice as she said his name. And watching her lift and stretch her leg along the rail he closed his eyes, remembering how it felt to become one with her and come home. 

The tuning of the orchestra increased in volume, startling him. One downward glance told him that she was tucking her arm around the dancer at her side, and he was bombarded with the memory of circling her trim waist with his hands. Groaning at his self inflicted torture, he could not help watching as she kicked high in the air, her leg scissoring out from beneath a decadently short black tutu, its surface shining with black translucent material that shimmered in the light. His eyes traveled slowly down her leg, passing over the black satin ribbons crisscrossing her calves and ankles, ending at her black pointe shoes. Never before had he seen the dancers with black shoes and hose, and he vowed that were he still in charge here there would be immediate changes in wardrobe. The old temptation to express his outrage by knocking over something or writing a caustic note to the managers rose up within him as he shook his head at whoever compelled the dancers to dress in such a manner…especially his _wife.  
_  
Thankfully the practice routine was changed and he watched her execute a pli or two before bending forward in line with the others. He watched the tail of her loosely braided hair swing hypnotically back and forth through her arc like movements. Interwoven with black satin ribbons, her hair brushed across her breasts, causing him to reach up and loosen his cravat and take a deep breath. Then he realized that he would not be the only man to witness such a feast for the eyes, and gritted his teeth to keep from bellowing in protest. What were those managers thinking, trashing his opera in such a manner? He had not been gone that long, yet what he sensed he was about to witness was the denigration of all that opera held in highest esteem: music as the highest expression of art, with the visual supporting it, not the other way around.

They were playing scales now, he realized, turning his attention to the orchestra pit barricaded behind rows of gendarmes and guards. Mon. Reyer was studying a page in his score, making Erik wonder if the conductor would indeed keep his word and introduce "Meg's Song" as planned. Such a bold move was uncharacteristic of Reyer, and as he shifted his attention to the managers seated in Box 6 and the officials in Box 5 he wondered how he might manage it. Distracted by a cramp in his upper back, he loosened his grip on the ropes, slowly lowering himself to the uppermost catwalk where he spread his feet and stretched his aching shoulders. He hadn't hung by ropes in quite some time, and had to admit he might be losing his touch. With that in mind he glanced toward the police crowding backstage right and decided it was time to report for duty.

Daring another glance out toward the thousands of people packing the theatre, he drew in his cloak, deftly tucking the ends into one side of his belt. Then testing his grip on the ropes, he swung across to the adjacent catwalk, landing there with practiced agility. Clasping the railing with both hands, he shifted down one level, pausing to check Meg's position and then plotting his route toward the place where Leger and Gilbert stood waiting, obviously for him. Another glance toward Box 5 reassured him that Cremieux had joined them as anticipated, the politician's hawk like gaze sweeping along the perimeter of the stage as if to catch a glimpse of the phantom. Smiling at the irony of his situation, Erik doubted any of them would suspect how tempted he was to kidnap his wife right out from under their noses and flee the country with her. Yet perhaps, after all this spent in his absence, that thought might have begun to cross their minds. Noting the tight set of Leger's jaw and Gilbert's worried frown, he sensed their fear concerning the possibility that he might not appear as arranged. But what alternate plan could they have in place, should he not reveal himself? As the light crew boss glanced upward he was forced to lean farther back into the darkness, knowing the time was not yet right.

"Of course the phantom will appear," he whispered, shifting his gaze back to his wife. She stood with bowed head, a hand laid over her heart, obviously in desperate need of rescuing. Gripping the trapeze bar he resigned himself to the fact that mob hunger for his blood, beatings and near drowning he must, for her sake, make one last appearance. 

_**Leger leaned toward the detective**_ who handed a telegram to him, nodding at his quiet comment that a body had been discovered at the confluence of two rivers, a foreigner, man in his mid forties… Glancing Gilbert's hopeful gaze and back toward the curtain, he opened it blindly.

"Any identification?" he asked his man.

"No, sir, but he carried Russian currency in his pocket, along with some exchanged notes," he was informed. "Apparently quite a substantial amount, sir."

Leger nodded and quickly scanned the message. "Find the rabbi and make sure he stays in the city," he ordered. "We'll need him to identify the victim."

"He's not at the synagogue, or in his quarters," was the unfortunate reply. "His parents haven't seen him all day, nor did the stable boy have anything to report."

Leger shoved the paper into his coat pocket. "Then he's here somewhere—find him now," he replied, dismissing the man. Gilbert crowded close, his eyes on Mme. Destler.

"If he survived a fall into that river, he'll be here," Gilbert breathed, and when Leger looked at the man's wife he knew it was true.

The tap of the conductor's baton interrupted them and a hush fell over the crowd. Within seconds silence reigned, and then the music burst forth as _Don Juan Triumphant_ captured everyone's attention. 

_**Chewing her bottom lip **_anddarting nervous glances around the backstage area, Meg felt a hand curl inside her elbow. Turning to see her mother's tiny smile, she felt irritated by her find any amusement in their situation. The opera had already started yet there was no sign of Erik.

Louise leaned closer, keeping her eyes on the inspector. "Don't worry," she said softly, nudging something into Meg's hand and squeezing it closed around it. "He's here."

Choking back a cry and well aware of Gilbert's critical gaze, she forced herself to remain calm. "Where?" she gasped, pasting a nervous smile upon her face.

"I don't know—it was tucked halfway beneath your door," her mother answered, shifting her hand to Meg's waist and looking across the backstage area as if nothing of consequence had happened. "Quick, tell me what it says."

Turning with her until their backs faced the police she unfolded the note, her mother keeping watch. With shaking fingers she stretched it toward the dimmed lights with pounding heart. With a gasp of joy she turned to look at her mother, waving to her understudy who stood poised in the wings, dressed as she was except for her necklace. 

"It says 'Until 10 o'clock' she told her mother, knowing that he meant the dinner they had planned during what seemed like months ago, yet it was only days. "We will have our time alone Maman, just as we hoped."

Louise kissed her cheek and squeezed her hand. "When you do, be sure to give him my love."

Meg nodded, wanting to embrace her mother but not wishing to arouse suspicion. When Louise rejoined the other dancers her understudy came toward her with a curtsy and a smile. "Good luck, Madame," the girl gushed, her face lit with excitement as she watched the other dancers. Meg reached for her arm and leaned close.

"I must ask you for a favor, Julie," she said quietly, noting the girl's wide eyed gaze.

"Anything, Madame!" she gasped, letting Meg guide her further back into the shadows.

_**Checking his watch yet again, **_Leger cursed Erik for being late. With the news of only one body being found he was convinced that he was alive, but dangerously late. They had made some changes in their plan which he needed to know, but all he could do was wait. Turning his attention back to the first act of his opera, he was shocked by the writhing and suggestive movements of the dancers as they pranced around a fake fire blazing in the center of the stage. It was a trick made realistic with lights and reflective materials, he guessed, unable to look away and shocked that Destler's wife was one of them. Though he had to admit she was perhaps the best dancer of them all. He felt Gilbert grip his arm before he leaned toward him.

"What's the matter," the chief detective joked, "don't care for opera?"

"No, I don't, he complained, glancing toward a stiffly erect Christine who stood waiting in the opposite wing. As usual her husband was at her side whispering something into her ear, and Leger thought he looked ridiculous dressed like a conquistador. "But I _am_ interested in hearing our star sing."

"So am I," Gilbert admitted, studying Raoul's costume. "Frankly, I think our friend seems a better husband to his wife," he observed, switching his attention to Meg. "At least I thought so until I saw his wife's costume."

Leger chuckled. "I doubt the man would approve." He had to admit he was curious how the phantom would handle the crowd in his attempt to settle the past. That alone would be worth coming here tonight, he predicted. They watched the dancing a bit longer before strolling farther back into the folds of the massive curtain.

"She looks terrified," Gilbert commented, noting Meg's expression.

"I'm a little terrified myself," Leger admitted, noting how the crowd was pressing toward the stage. It was a good thing they arranged for double lines of gendarmes. "Go and check the security manager, just to be sure."

Gilbert nodded just as a strong hand clamped down upon Leger's shoulder, causing them both to turn and look into a pair of startling green eyes, lit with mischief behind a black half face mask. 

_**"I trust I'm not too late,"**_ Erik breathed, frowning at their shocked expressions. "You _were_ expecting me, gentlemen—"

Leger grabbed his arm and propelled him further into the shadows of the curtains. "Are you insane?" he whispered, glancing back as if to be sure that no one had seen them. The crew and performers were all busy checking the last minute details before being cued to go onstage, their muted conversations nearly drowned by the darkly pulsating music of the first act. Turning back to glare at Erik, he realized his hand still gripped his upper arm and he dropped it abruptly. "Where have you been all this time?"

Cringing inwardly at the provocative dancing involving his own wife Erik noted the tense set of her lips, relieved that she disapproved of the choreography. "Inadvertently delayed," he breathed, backing past a wardrobe cart from which he snatched up one of the black masks provided for the dancers.

"We need to have a little chat about intermission," Leger reminded him as he pulled the mask over his head but left it hanging at his throat. "But first you must know that your game of hide and seek has cost my department thousands of francs, not to mention many gray hairs and sleepless nights."

Erik finally pulled his gaze from Meg and eyed the man. "Why Inspector," he drawled with a lazy smile,  
"I believe you actually missed me."

"Explain yourself and be quick about it," Leger hissed. "And drop the phantom act for now."

Erik glanced toward the place opposite them where Louise and Ben stood, backs turned and apparently deep in conversation. "No thanks to your protection, we were followed from the parish," he stated in a bored tone. "It seems an assassin has been after our friend the rabbi since his last trip east, a fact you neglected to share with me."

Leger had enough grace to look away as if slightly annoyed with his criticism. "Continue," he ordered.

Erik sighed in resignation, studying his profile. "Eventually the man overtook us and though I was able to distract him from killing the rabbi, we met with an unfortunate accident and took an unexpected dip in the river."

Leger glanced back at him. "You, and the assassin."

"Correct," he breathed, watching Meg step out from the other dancers for a solo tour. "We lost touch on the way down the mountain so I know nothing of his fate, or Daniel's for that matter..."

"He's fine," Leger informed him. "That doesn't explain how the rocks could pound the assassin's body to a point where he was barely recognizable, yet you do not appear to even bear a scratch."

Erik swung his gaze back to the inspector's. "Were it not for my horse finding me and nudging me enough to get up and a good doctor in the nearby village, I never would have made my way back."

"I would like to contact this doctor you mention," Leger said casually. "Just to discover the extent of your 'injuries.'"

Erik pursed his lips to keep from shooting out an angry retort, noting Gilbert's sympathetic look. Leger only hardened his expression as he chose a better response. "It turned out to be the same doctor who treated me at the parish," he stated. "Arnand is his name."

Leger nodded brusquely. "I will be contacting him, particularly to discuss the length of your care."

Erik moved threateningly closer to him. "I only stayed away out of fear that my presence might direct him back toward Daniel, or worse my family. Had I known the man was dead I would not have been as cautious." 

Leger nodded toward the opposite side of the stage where Ben stood frowning at him. "Your brother-in-law over there rescued Daniel, having taken it upon himself to follow you from the parish. He seemed to know nothing of your whereabouts." 

Erik saw that Ben and Louise were staring at Leger suspiciously, but he doubted they could see him where he stood in the darkened corner, surrounded by policemen. "No, I don't suppose he would." 

"If I were a betting man, I would say you and your family have some difficulty in following orders," Leger observed.

Erik narrowed his eyes upon the man, counting the days when his parole would end as would their relationship. "Though I am hesitant to make such a difficult request," he began, turning to watch Meg rejoin the other dancers, "if your people could manage to protect my wife and family another few days, I would perhaps be more accommodating."

"Assuming _they_ don't go off on their own," Leger complained.

Erik pulled back to study him, admitting that he had a point. Perhaps the damage might be repaired, he thought. "I suppose each side must learn to trust the other," he suggested.

Leger nodded, switching the conversation to matters concerning his positioning and timing, and when they finally came to an agreement he swept his eyes over Erik's tuxedo. "You should be costumed as Don Juan," he stated, peering up at the black wig with particular disdain. "Is this how you disguised yourself before?"

Erik pulled up the mask and set it in place, spreading his arms wide for inspection. "Exactly as before, save for the aforementioned costume."

"I'd rather you wore that," Leger griped as they both noted the change in the music. Signaling his men to full attention, he leaned toward Erik's ear. "Just make sure that crowd out there believes that the phantom of the opera has returned, is that clear?"

Erik smiled cynically, bowing at the waist. "I'll do my best, sir." 

_**Heart pounding, Meg led the other dancers**_ in concluding the opening scene before the soloists were to appear. Relieved to move out of the blinding lights, she led the way along the back wall, taking advantage of the break to glance furtively toward the wings. With a strange combination of eagerness and dread she scanned the figures lining both sides of the wings as they stood waiting for their cues. Then Christine's voice soared above the music and she strode onstage, greeted by a thunderous roar of cheering and applause. She kept singing, smiling broadly as flowers shot through the air toward her, falling limply at the edge of the stage floor in honor of her. 

Meg stared at her in disbelief, noting the proud tilt of her chin and the joy evident in her expression. Even in profile she looked radiant, beaming under the attention and honor given her as the primary soprano. Her costume was filmy and scant at best, and as the din lowered and she sang Meg caught her mother's eye across the stage. Ben stood at her side, staring at Christine with a tight look of disapproval on his face as he listened. Moving her gaze to the opposite wings, she noted the group of police and gendarmes gathered near the wardrobe tables. At their center she saw the inspector and Gilbert just to his left. Leger seemed intent on listening to some report, shaking his head and shifting aside just enough to allow a glimpse of the person with whom he spoke. It was someone who was in the shadows, apparently dressed completely in black. Another shift of the men's positions revealed that he was seated upon a stool, his back to her. At that moment he turned his head to one side and the overhead light revealed a blue highlight in his jet black hair. He nodded to one of the detectives that spoke to him, shrugging his broad shoulders and slowly rising from his seat. A weight dropped inside her like a rock plunging into deep water as he turned and looked in her direction, his eyes immediately capturing hers. Parting her lips, she gasped beneath the pounding beat of the music. "_Erik!_" 

The heat of his intensely green gaze pierced her heart even from halfway across the width of the stage. Unhindered by the black half mask he wore, his expression clearly revealed his desire for her, making her senses come to life in response. When they did his eyes glinted with recognition and satisfaction. One corner of that masculine, alluring mouth lifted, dimpling his cleanly shaven cheek. She longed to press her fingertip into that slight indention and feel the texture of his face against her palm. Smiling with happiness despite the dark mood set by his music, she saw his answering nod of understanding. Forgetting that she was onstage she pulled away from the wall to run to him and show him how much she had missed him. All her grief over his disappearance and the hours spent worrying and praying for his return faded like morning mist. He was moving out of the encircling protection of the police toward her and then, as if stumbling along far behind her emotions, her mind caught up and she realized what wearing his mask meant. Her heart skipped a beat as he stopped and rested his hands upon his hips, holding her gaze.

He was going to go out there, onto the stage! He wasn't here just to see her—he was here to face _them! _Icy tentacles of fear crawled up her neck as she watched his expression change. The light faded from his eyes and a nerve leapt in his cheek. Grim determination thinned the line of his lips as the lights dimmed and the spotlight illuminated only Christine. Taking advantage of the deeper darkness onstage, Meg eased her way past the line of dancers toward the wing opposite where he stood, turning at the far curtain to silently dismiss herself. He stood watching her, and she tentatively blew him a kiss before turning to go to her dressing room. 

_**Christine sang hauntingly and beautifully for Don Juan,**_ and when Raoul stepped from behind the curtain there was a collective gasp from both audience and performers. All eyes clung to Don Juan as he walked slowly toward her, his high tenor voice joining and soaring with hers. He circled her and ran one hand over her bare shoulder, prompting unbidden memories to flood Erik's mind. Steeling himself from a torrent of emotions he'd thought long dead, he forced himself to watch and listen as objectively as he could. Though the costumes were much more alluring and the presentation decidedly seductive, he was after all, still the composer. It did not matter that his real name rode upon the title page of the score, unknown and unrecognized. The fact that his rights and royalties had been stolen from him, the music was his and he held himself accountable for its performance. Though its subtle message had become glaring unapologetic by now, he could not fault either Raoul or Christine, whose voices had matured and gained in power and skill. Crossing his arms, he listened with a critical ear, judging every note and nuance as well as the body language of its performers. But when they began to climb opposite staircases just as he had done with Christine, an onslaught of painful memories forced him to look away. Putting a hand to his head, he glanced toward the audience and caught Mon. Reyer's look. The conductor's disapproving frown lifted as he caught Erik's gaze, and with a reassuring smile Reyer raised his brows to indicate that he was ready to follow his direction. Somewhat encouraged, Erik slowly departed his place in the shadows, feeling Gilbert's hand slap his shoulder in send off. 

Edging toward the curtain, he paused to note the intimate embraces and fondling being exchanged among the dancers onstage. Shifting his attention away from them he glared accusingly at the managers in Box 6, waiting for the exact moment they became aware of his presence. Andre stiffened and leaned toward Firmin, looking decidedly uncomfortable. The latter lifted his chin and returned his attention to the performance as high above the stage Raoul and Christine embraced, prompting unexpected shouts of protest from the audience.

_Boo!_ the people protested. _Not good enough!_

Gazed out approvingly over the audience, knowing they could not see him yet. Patience…

_We want the real star!_ someone yelled, causing the murmur of protest to rise and spread throughout the hall. Raoul and Christine continued singing, locked in intimate oblivion.

Erik saw the judge, the mayor and even Cremieux lean slightly forward, distracted by the audience. There were shouts of lewd comments but he could not identify the location of the hecklers. To their credit, the gendarmes and security guards quickly snapped to attention as the protest spread. Reinforcements began to silently file toward the stage from their positions along the side walls.

_Boo! We want the real star!_ someone demanded, igniting the spread of protest. _We want the Phantom!_ Someone shouted loudly, echoing throughout the theatre. _Give us the Phantom of the Opera!  
_  
Erik felt a hand on his arm and turned to meet Leger's warning gaze. "Not yet," he ordered with a glance toward the spot where Meg had been standing. Erik followed his gaze, remembering that she had said she would only dance the first act. "Don't worry," Leger reassured him, recapturing his attention. "We'll make sure she gets safely to her coach—it's you I'm worried about."

Protests and chants for the phantom rose demandingly from all corners of the hall, even from the balconies. Yet Raoul continued to sing Don Juan's love song as if he and Christine were enjoying the performance of their lives. When the level of murmured protest grew louder he did glance in disapproval toward the audience, and Christine looked frightened. 

Wanting to get it over with, Erik stepped toward the curtain, again restrained by Leger's hand. The clamor of protest began to sound truly threatening and someone threw an egg toward center stage, where it landed and broke on the polished floor.

_We want the REAL Don Juan!_ a young man's voice demanded, setting off a chant for his appearing. _Don Juan! Don Juan! Don Juan!  
_  
_Give us the Phantom!_

_The Phantom of the Opera!_ others chanted over and over. _Phantom! Phantom! Phantom!  
_  
When people began to rise to their feet Erik knew it was time. Pulling away from Leger's restraining hand he threw a glance toward the opposite wing, giving up his hope of seeing Meg standing there. It was better that she was escorted far away, he decided as he moved toward the edge of the curtain. Tension coiled within him and his throat went dry. With a muttered prayer he straightened his jacket and stepped around the curtain and into the light. Taking his stand just beyond it, he was aware of it wafting back into position. Feeling the stab of every eye as it focused upon him, he straightened with resolve as the chanting was swallowed up by cheers and applause as the theatre erupted in welcome. Not knowing where to look, he glanced down at Mon. Reyer's upturned face as he continued conducting music no one could hear. His nervous but reverent smile was disrupted by the shrill whistles of joy that pierced the shouting. 

Erik stood at attention despite the press of the people against the restraining triple line of guards. Beneath the cheering he could hear boos of disapproval. He waited for the lull that would give him his opportunity, trying his best to ignore the objects sailing toward him. There were flowers, eggs, handkerchiefs, gloves and hats being flung at him, some hitting his feet and legs. Narrowing his gaze upon the center of the crowd he saw something being propelled toward his face and shifted only enough to barely avoid it, bringing another round of cheering from the main floor. All the while he stood facing them unapologetically, thinking the shouts for order and police whistles a feeble attempt to quell the excitement. The mayor stood up as did the other dignitaries in Box 5, and though he raised his hand for order he was ignored. Cheers for the phantom and opera ghost continued, and Erik grew uneasy at the length of the response. It was time, he realized, holding all expression from his face as he slowly raised his own hand.

At the gesture the applause and shouting shifted, beginning to weaken and lower considerably. The whistles, catcalls and declarations of love receded into murmurs of anticipation as he lowered his hand back to his side and waited. For the first time in a very long while he thought he might be able to exert control over others, yet he continued to pray inwardly for wisdom as to what to do or say. The press of the crowd toward the stage was troubling, and when the gendarmes raised their rifles before them he felt the bitter taste of fear upon his tongue. His heard raced and his palms sweated, but he swallowed and nodded in greeting for the first time.

The crowd went wild and another spray of flowers flew toward him. _We love you, Opera Ghost! Let him speak! Phantom! Phantom!_

_Marry me!_ a woman's voice cried out, prompting laughter and rowdy answers from the audience.

Erik pursed his lips in irritation as another cry rang out. _Sing for us, Phantom! _

_Let him sing - Don Juan!  
_  
_Phantom! Phantom!_

_Don Juan! Don Juan! Don Juan!_

Erik lifted his hand again. "You shall have your wish," he shouted deeply, startling them and causing the desired effect. The shouting stopped as the murmuring lowered toward quiet. "But first, I have something to say to you all," he declared, watching the guards push the people back another meter from the stage.

_Don Juan! Don Juan! Don Juan!_ a small group continued to demand, weakened as he stepped closer to the edge of the stage and glared at them. 

_Let him speak! We came to hear him! Quiet!_

Erik waited for order and nodded up at Raoul and Christine, who stood above him with their gazes fixed upon the audience. But they would not look in his direction. 

By now Mon. Reyer had laid down his baton and stood at attention, watching Erik closely. As did the entire orchestra. Some he recognized but there were new faces, young people who had apparently replaced the older musicians. 

"Let me speak!" he demanded, thrusting his arms behind him despite the occasional flower that flew toward him. Satisfied at the level of quiet, he cleared his throat. "I insist upon a little of your time to address a matter of some importance," he began, swallowing again. 

"Quiet!" several voices demanded, further quieting the crowd.

Erik nodded in satisfaction. "When I have finished I would like my opera to continue," he insisted, gesturing toward Raoul and Christine. "You have purchased your tickets to hear my opera, not me."

_Phantom! Phantom! Phantom!_

Don Juan! Don Juan!  
  
"Quiet!" he roared, frowning at the torrent of roses being flung at his feet. "Please, I beg your attention—otherwise I will leave and you will never know—"

_Let him speak! Quiet! You have it! Quiet, everybody!_

Erik began to walk slowly along the edge of the stage, earning a hush of anticipation for which he was careful not to show his gratitude. "You have all summoned me here tonight," he began, gazing meaningfully up at Box 5 as he walked. "And I have come, though completely against my will."

Continuing to pace slowly back and forth, he nodded at their answering applause and cheers of thanks. Among these were shouts of protest and calls for quiet, effectively dividing the crowd. He smiled inwardly, aware of the crowd losing its momentum.

"I have come here only upon strong advisement," he declared, bowing slightly toward Box 5 as the mayor smiled and waved in response, earning a hearty round of laughter. "And so, ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, I bid you good evening and tell you that my purpose twofold."

Pausing only to heighten their anticipation, he slowed his steps and stopped, making eye contact with the first few rows of guests, though hindered by the bright lights. For the first time silence reigned. 

"First and foremost," he continued, resuming his slow pacing, "I have come here tonight to relinquish my role as Don Juan."

This was met with protests and boos that continued despite his shaking his head impatiently, waiting for them to die back down. As he paced he cast a furtive glance to the wings and saw her standing there, a hand to her throat as she stared at him. One quick glance told him that she was frightened, but that she had changed into an ivory gown that flowed softly around her shins, ending at the satin ribbons that were part of her pointe shoes. As he glanced up into her eyes he forgot the fact that he stood before a waiting crowd, his steps slowed and his train of thought momentarily lost. A shout of protest brought him quickly back to the present.

_You'll always be Don Juan!_

_And the Phantom of the Opera!_ a woman cried out.

Jerking his head back toward the center of the crowd, he turned to face them, stretching out his hands. "I confess to having played _other_ roles," he continued, careful not to admit to the latter one. "And for that I must ask your forgiveness."

Boos and protests followed, but after a moment he continued, raising one hand higher. "I do ask your forgiveness," he insisted. "I now answer to a higher call and an even more demanding role, one which I am compelled to bow to in service."

Once again capturing their attention, he slowly clasped his hands behind his back and gazed out at them. "For tonight I stand before you a changed man, a redeemed man: I have placed myself under a vow to repay my debts to society, which I have already begun to do."

Murmurs traveled throughout the crowd as he nodded to Mon. Reyer, who immediately straightened and lifted his baton. The musicians drew up their instruments and waited as Erik smiled in response. 

"I have not, however, abandoned the music," he stated, extending his hand toward the orchestra.

When they realized what he planned as Reyer lifted his arms, the theater erupted into applause and cheering. Leger stood at attention, his eyes on the Erik. One sideways glance told him that Meg stood at attention as well, now framed by her mother and Ben. Feeling considerably relieved, Erik lowered his hand back to his side.

"I have better music for you now," he shouted, "different music, which I offer for your hearing tonight." 

Again waiting for a light but enthusiastic applause to wane, he ignored the black rose thrown up at him and glanced toward Reyer. "I introduce a very special song tonight, one I had written some years ago but never shared. It was composed for someone I have always held in the highest regard, someone I wish to honor and to whom I give tribute. And yet over time the song transformed into a love song—"

Interrupted by cheers and hearty applause, he waited for another lull. He straightened and nodded once again to Mon. Reyer. "So I offer this song tonight to someone whom I have grown to love very deeply, someone whom I had unintentionally offended." He waited for a few bursts of applause, frowning at their intent. "And with this song I also ask forgiveness, based upon a plea of insanity."

At the last word the audience shouted in triumph, continuing to applaud for the span of nearly a minute before he was able to restrain them again. "Please," he asked, "I ask for your attention a moment longer, and then indulge these talented young performers by affording them the opportunity to present to you _Don Juan _in its entirety."

Again he was interrupted by cheers, but ignoring them he continued. "I therefore state before you all tonight that I legally transfer to the owners of this opera all rights and royalties connected to _Don Juan Triumphant_... As for the future, perhaps we might meet here again, by leave of your managers, to debut another opera, yet to be completed. And now, Monsieur, if you please, the love song, and then the conclusion of _Don Juan_."

As the opening chords sounded Erik looked off into the distance, concentrating on the music as he began to sing. A hush fell over the hall and silence reigned save for the music. Closing his eyes, he lost himself in the music, traveling back in time to the night he had found her, bruised and weeping, her dress torn and soiled in the filthy alley.

_The LORD is my light and my salvation,_ he sang with a new depth of emotion he did not anticipate feeling. _Whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?_

Continuing to sing, he noted a few soft gasps and murmurs and opened his eyes. There was a flash of light at his side and he realized that Meg was slowly dancing toward him, her face half covered by an ivory sequined mask. His heard pounded. 

_What is she doing,_ he worried, _coming out here when God only knew what might happen next?_

Not knowing how he managed it, he continued to sing, turning to face her and watch as she danced to the progression of the music, interpreting it more perfectly than he could have imagined. Her dress flowing around her as she moved, he was mesmerized by the emotion in her every gesture. Struggling to concentrate on the lyrics, he watched her dramatize her own experience of being attacked.

_When evil-doers came upon me to eat up my flesh, even my adversaries and my foes, they stumbled and fell... __he sang, extending his hand toward her so as to focus everyone's attention upon her._

_Though a host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear…_

She moved as if wrestling against her attackers, even falling like a broken doll to the floor. But as he continued singing she slowly got to her feet, rising upon her toes and stretching her arms upward for help. He repeated the words impressed upon him to tell of her stolen childhood, her perseverance, and her time of loneliness and healing.

_One thing have I asked of the LORD, __he sang reverently, captivated by her movements.__ That will I seek after…that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life… for He concealed me in His pavilion in the day of evil…He lifted me up upon a rock…_

The complex chords gradually shifted in key from minor to major as he sang, watching her dance toward him. Steeling his expression to warn her away, he saw the proud tilt of her chin as he continued singing.

_And now shall my head be lifted up above my enemies round about me…I will sing, yes, I will sing praises unto the LORD...__1_

She stretched her hand toward him, and despite his desire to protect her he reached out toward her. Her fingers brushed his as she slowly circled behind him. Continuing to sing to her, he locked gazes with her and when she reached out again he captured her hand, earning a chorus of gasps and light applause.

_He is near unto them that are of a broken heart, and saves those who are of a contrite spirit__2__  
__How lovely are Thy tabernacles, O LORD of hosts! My soul yearns, yea, even pines for the courts of the LORD.._

Her arm braced his shoulder before she turned into his side, running her hand along his collarbone. The audience breathed out their approval as he slipped his hand around her waist to support her, stirring the response into a mixture of protest and approval. Rising to her toes, she tilted her face up toward his as he softly sang the last few words, gazing deeply into her eyes.

_Happy is the one whose strength is in Thee, in whose heart are the highways…they go from strength to strength__3_

He felt her hand rest over the right side of his mask and lifted his own to hold it there while the music carried the song toward its end. Fighting to breathe both from fear of the risk she was taking and from the power of her love, he closed his eyes and stood immobile, giving the stage over to her. To his complete astonishment he felt her lips touch his in a simple kiss before they vanished. He opened his eyes, suddenly realizing that she had kissed him in front of everyone. He tightened the hand riding her waist and held her to his side while the audience applauded wildly.

Staring into her smiling eyes he saw her nod toward the crowd and glanced out. They were standing up, applauding and stomping, but their heads were tilted back, looking up. Soon the chanting began once again.

_Don Juan! Don Juan! Don Juan!_

Meg turned in his arms and together they looked up toward Raoul and Christine, seeing what drew such a thunderous applause. The stars of _Don Juan _were locked in a passionate embrace, kissing intimately in public with complete disregard for propriety. Raoul's hands stroked Christine's body as she melted against him, grasping his back. Meg gasped in surprise but Erik made his decision quickly, taking advantage of the distraction. Tugging her along, he guided her back toward the curtain as the music for _Don Juan_ blared in response. The dancers moved out from the shadows and began to repeat their former dance. Leaving it all behind, Erik pulled Meg past the group of police who stood gaping open mouthed at the display. Only Leger was watching him, and Erik saluted stiffly, earning only a slight nod of response as they passed him by. Shifting his hand to Meg's, he drew her along after him and headed toward the backstage area. Gilbert followed in their wake, calling for reinforcements as Erik dipped his head to speak only for her hearing.

"Let's get out of here," he said, threading a path through the stage crew who stood gazing up at Raoul and Christine, their eyes glued to their performance.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_1Psalm 27. 2Psalm 34. 3Psalm 84. 


	53. Chapter 53 Encore

_**Chapter 53 Encore**_

Hands clasped tight as they rushed toward the dance school exit, Meg heard Erik thank Gilbert and the other men accompanying them before he pulled open the door. As promised, a coach and driver stood waiting for them and he released her hand to step aside. Still wearing her pointe shoes and frowning at the iron stairs, she nevertheless preceded him out of the opera house and down the steps, feeling his hand at her elbow. The cobblestoned alley would have torn at the thin soles of her shoes but before she reached the last step Erik swept her up into his arms and carried her to the coach. Ducking inside, she seated herself and watched him pass something up to the driver. His expression was tight and the grim set of his lips told her more than any words could express. Gathering the collar of her borrowed cloak to her neck she shivered as he nodded curtly to the driver and pulled out his wallet.

"If anyone follows, be sure to lose them," he ordered, handing up a few bills. "I don't care how hard or fast you might have to drive, just do it."

"Aye sir," a gruff voice replied. "And thank you sir!" it added when the total tip was counted.

Erik glanced furtively up the alley, checking for any visible threats to their safety. Then, as if sensing her regard he turned to look into her eyes. A jolt of desire shot between them and in that moment she knew without a doubt that from this point on he would allow nothing further to come between them. The set of his jaw was unyielding, the look in his eyes possessive. Without breaking eye contact he moved in one fluid motion, climbing in and passing before her to sit at her side. She kept her head turned toward him and felt him clasp her hand as another roar of cheering and applause thundered toward them. She decided that _Don Juan Triumphant_ had created yet another sensation but without their cooperation. Glancing toward the door they had just exited, she prayed that no mob would pursue him this time. She felt him shift slightly and heard him rap twice on the roof to signal the driver, sending them lurching into motion.

Taking one last look at the building that had been her home for all of her life, she felt a surge of emotion that was part sorrow and part joyful relief. They sped up the alley and turned onto the avenue, taking them past the front of the opera house. Light streamed from every window and she gasped at the crowds swarming the stairs to get in, as well as the lines of police holding them back. The entire city block was congested with traffic and people crowding toward the opera, reminding her of the mob that had trapped them inside not too many months before. Judging by the size of this additional crowd, she realized the extent of the danger they had faced. It wouldn't take much more than one wrong look, word or gesture and this crowd could easily rage out of control, yet Erik had risked it and managed to bring them through unscathed. Squeezing his hand, she turned to face him.

"Oh Erik, I was so frightened for you—" she breathed, interrupted by the hand that framed her cheek just before his lips claimed hers. She froze, too surprised to react beyond staring at his closed eyes and furrowed brow.

It was a desperate kiss, a combination of fear, gratitude, longing and desire. Quickly recovering her senses she reached for him, gripping him like a lifeline and returning his kiss. With a satisfied groan he pulled her up against his chest, sliding backward and dragging her with him across the seat. She put out a hand to stop the back of his head from hitting the wall of the coach, although it was heavily padded and would not have harmed him. He kissed her greedily, drinking in her response as if he were dying of thirst. She wound her arms around his shoulders, pressing into the hard contours of his body and completely sure that there was no other place on earth she wanted to be.

After several breathless minutes he rested his head back, easing into softly shared kisses as his eyes looked at her in wonder. She could see the glints of light in them with each passing street lamp as he gazed at her in silence, tracing the sensitive skin along her jaw with his fingertips. His touch sent delicious waves of pleasure coursing through her, making her want more. Longing to explore him at her leisure, she raised a hand to ease off the black wig, smiling into his eyes as it fell to the floor. Combing her fingers through his damp, wavy hair she realized how hot he must have been wearing that wig beneath the stage lights. She kissed the repaired bridge of his nose, then the entire side of his face which he had masked, still seeing him standing alone upon the stage to face enemies and admirers. Tracing along his temples and down his sideburns, she caressed his face as he closed his eyes and let her, his hands framing her waist. But when she focused her ministrations upon his lips he gripped her tightly and kissed her with renewed desperation. She teased the fastenings of his shirt as he cupped her cheek in his hand and kissed her eyes, her cheeks and then her lips once again.

She remembered wanting to tear off that black mask once they were together onstage, eager to show the world how little it mattered to her that his face wasn't perfect. But the mask protected his new identify, the one if kept secret would allow him the freedom to go wherever he pleased and not be associated with the phantom. On their way out he'd torn it off and cast it aside without as much as a backward glance, just as she had done with her own mask. Now, he raised both hands to her hair and tilted her head to one side.

"You shouldn't have risked coming out to me," he breathed into her ear, causing her to shiver with pleasure as she gripped his shoulders. "Never have I been more terrified or thrilled than when you did," he whispered, kissing her temple.

She pulled his lips to hers, balancing herself against him as the carriage sped over the bumpy, less maintained road. "I wanted them all to see our love," she breathed. "And by the way, you handled the situation masterfully, in my opinion. I think you amazed them all, handling the crowd as you did. I was so proud of you, I had to be out there to share it with you."

He dropped his head back, his expression touched with regret as he toyed with a tendril of her hair. "That was not how I envisioned our reunion," he said softly.

"Well, I'm grateful to have you back no matter what it took," she said, smoothing a hand down his lapel. "And that the premiere is finally behind us."

He caught her hand in his, gently squeezing it. "Hopefully it settled things, once and for all…"

She touched the cleft in his chin, her eyes holding his. "Do you think we might now enjoy a more normal life, Erik?"

He raised one brow. "That depends upon your definition of 'normal.'"

They hit another bump but his hand tightened at her waist, steadying her. "Normal—let me see…a life without the fear of never seeing you again," she offered as a definition.

He lifted a hand to her cheek. "I cannot tell you how deeply I regret our situation," he told her. "It is not way to begin a marriage."

"You could not have foreseen any of it," she corrected, slipping her fingers into his loosened cravat.

He studied her a moment, his expression troubled. "I owe you an explanation for why I was delayed."

She rested a finger over his lips. "We owe each other nothing but sharing some time alone together," she whispered, holding his gaze. "And plenty of ardent kisses."

He leaned his head back, his smile restrained. "Not too ardent, or I might not be able to stop."

She brushed the corner of mouth with her thumb. "That would be fine with me," she whispered hopefully.

He laughed softly, shaking his head. "May I remind you we are in a public conveyance?" he said gently. "Having experienced that frustration before, I do not care to repeat it."

She slid her hand around the back of his neck, inside his collar. "But I've missed you so," she breathed over his lips.

His eyes fired with longing. "Not as much as I have missed you," he said, kissing her tenderly. But to her disappointment he tucked her face against his neck and held her there. "I do have limits, my love."

His endearment made her spirit soar, yet she had to admit that he was right. "All right, then if that is the case, what would you suggest we do until our arrival?"

He chuckled. "Play cards?"

She buried her nose into his collar and felt him shiver with pleasure. "Tickle each other?" she suggested, touching her tongue to the place just below his earlobe.

"Too dangerous," he groaned, pulling them both into a more upright position. "Consider the fine art of conversation, at least for now?"

"All right," she sighed with resignation and contented herself with resting her temple against his shoulder. He pulled her hand atop his thigh and held it there with his. "I am curious about what happened to you on your way back from the parish…Daniel told us you protected him from an assassin, and that you were swept away by the river."

He nodded. "He was going to either kidnap him or kill him, so I fought the man. We lost our footing and fell into the river, which was at flood stage. The current separated us, and the next thing I knew Prince was nudging me awake at a bend in the river. I saw no one else."

"Prince? You mean he found you, when the police were not able to?"

"It was an amazing feat, now that I think of it," he stated. "I suppose I'm too accustomed to his abilities and sometimes take them for granted. It is true that we seem to keep track of each other…I would not have survived without him."

"Oh Erik," she breathed, winding her arm around his waist. "Had I know all that, I would have been even more hysterical with worry."

He cupped the back of her neck, gently massaging it. "Then it's better you are kept unaware; Leger must be right about that, at least to some degree."

Snuggling closer, she shook her head in bewilderment. "Before that I thought you were just delivering letters and managing the homeless shelter."

"Aaron and Esther manage well enough without my help," he admitted. "And it seems my deliveries involve people far more often than documents."

She looked up. "Daniel's people?"

He sighed and started out the window. "I am not at liberty to say anything more, but I now realize there are others who have suffered more tragedy that I could ever have imagined."

She pulled her hand from his, spreading her fingers over his thigh. Beneath her touch she could feel the strong muscles of his leg, remembering the stab wound he's taken to his other leg. "You didn't say what happened after you woke up, at the river."

"I managed to pull myself up enough to climb into the saddle…the next thing I knew Dr. Arnand was leaning over me in his office, shouting something about patients never obeying orders."

She studied his face a moment. "But have you truly recovered?"

His eyes held hers before he sighed with resignation. "I don't suppose I can hide anything from you."

"No, you cannot."

"I am on medication for vertigo," he admitted.

"Vertigo? she gasped, suddenly suspicious of his abrupt appearance backstage. Had he arrived, as in the past, via the complex trapeze network stretched high above the stage, all the while suffering from vertigo? "Why didn't you tell me? After all, I am your wife—"

"Exactly," he stated, "'wife,' not nursemaid."

"But what if something happened to you?" she croaked. "With no one aware of your illness or the fact that you were on medication, who knows what might have happened—"

"I'll be fine," he insisted.

"Really Erik, you must accept the fact that we are married now, and you are no longer alone!"

Ignoring her irritation, his eyes traveled slowly over her features. "No, I suppose I'm not," he admitted softly.

"Well you cannot stop there," she insisted, "go on: how did you contract vertigo, and where is this medication?"

He patted his breast pocket dutifully. "I was pulled under the current several times, which in and of itself poses no threat, unless of course one has undergone facial surgery."

"Oh no…"

"Once I awoke all I could do was lie prone and fight the nausea," he related. "The inner ear was somehow affected, but the medication began to work quickly. So do not be angry with me for using the ropes, my love."

The horses began to slow down, and he glanced out the window. Meg followed his gaze, studying the outlines of the estates lining the road which lead steeply uphill. "We're nearly home," she judged, meeting his waiting gaze.

"Yes, home," he breathed thoughtfully.

She studied him critically. "You should definitely see Jean, just to be sure everything is healing properly."

"You sound like Dr. Arnand," he said, pursing his lips at her groan of frustration. "All right—I'll think about it."

_**Nodding to the guard stationed**_ at the back of the house, Erik opened the door for Meg to enter before him.

"Good night," she said, entering as the man touched his arm in warning. "A moment, sir?" he said quietly.

Meg turned, her hands poised at the neckline of her cloak. "Is something wrong?"

"No Madame," the man said apologetically. "I just wish to inform your husband of our schedule."

"I see; well goodnight, then," she said softly, turning to walk into the hallway and leaving them alone.

Erik glanced at the man suspiciously. "Yes?" he prompted.

"No need for concern, monsieur," he stated quietly, glancing into the house to be sure she would not overhear. "My men and I are accustomed to this kind of work, and will ensure the highest level of privacy for you and your wife…especially at nighttime."

"I'm glad," Erik replied, "should any threats arise, do not hesitate to warn me."

"Yes sir," he was assured as he entered the house, the guard beginning to close the door after him. "Oh and sir—we change shifts at 6 a.m., just for your information."

"Thank you—good evening," Erik nodded, latching the door and expelling a tense breath. He turned to see Meg standing in the dim light, not far from the door,

"Six guards?" she whispered, taking the few steps back toward him. "Is that really necessary?"

"Apparently Leger thinks so," he said quietly, touching her upper back. "I have been duly assured of complete privacy."

After a moment's pause she smiled and rose to the tips of her ballet shoes, circling his neck with her arms. "What good news," she sighed, gently kissing his lips. "I wouldn't want our first dinner alone in our home to have an audience," she whispered, slipping her fingers into his hair.

Erik lifted a hand between them to unfasten her cloak, coaxing it off and reaching around her to drape it over the hook. "Neither would I," he whispered back as she did him the same honor. But when he turned back to her she grasped his arm with both hands, pressing against him.

"Come with me," she whispered, guiding him toward the dining room. He could see that the table had already been set. A small vase of fresh flowers sat between the two lit candles which bathed the house with a soft, welcoming light. In the hearth a fire crackled to dispel the chill of an early winter. And even more inviting was a delicious aroma beckoning them to a later dinner.

"Something smells wonderful," he breathed, feeling his mouth water.

"I have a confession to make," she sighed, nodding toward the kitchen. "I enlisted Claire's help for dinner."

"She's here?" he choked, looking past her and praying that her sister was not.

"Don't worry," she laughed, reaching to the top button of his jacket. "We are completely alone, at least _inside_ the house."

He tipped her chin up for a lazy kiss, feeling her tug at his shoulders until he pulled back to remove it. When she started on his cravat he fingered the buttons at the back of her dress, blindly slipping each from its slit. Her fingers worked down his shirt as he bent his head to kiss the graceful column of her neck, already intoxicated by the taste and fragrance of her skin. Once the back was opened the dress slipped low in front, once again revealing the tiny chain she wore beneath her clothing. Straightening, he lifted it between his fingers, capturing her attention.

"I've been very curious about what lies at the other end of this necklace," he whispered, gently bobbing the invisible weight up and down inside the edge of her chemise. Smiling up into his gaze, she unfastened the clasp, drew it out and opened his hand to place it in the center of his palm.

"What else would it be, but the beautiful wedding band you gave me?" she said softly, smoothing a hand over his undershirt. He shuddered in response, holding her gaze. "I've just been waiting for you to put it on."

He tilted his head forward in acknowledgement. "I would be honored," he said, sliding it off the chain and onto the proper finger. "I thought you might like it."

"It's perfect," she agreed, lifting her hand to display its position atop the emerald and diamond ring he had given to her at their wedding. To his dismay her expression suddenly clouded with regret. "I'm sorry to have been so childish about you wearing a ring—"

"You weren't," he interrupted, reaching into his pocket as he captured her hand. In similar fashion he placed his own gold band in her palm. "In fact, I have changed my mind about wearing one," he stated, watching her eyes widen before she gazed down at his ring. It matched hers save for a more modest design, but was inscribed in the same manner. She looked up, eyes filled with questions.

"Go ahead," he told her. "Put it on."

She shook her head. "It should be your choice, Erik, not mine."

"It is my choice," he reassured her, nodding for her to pick it up and place it on his left finger. "I've decided I need a symbol to show the world that I belong to you…just as you belong to me," he told her as she slid it in place. Then he looked down at it, feeling her rest both hands at his waist.

_I am taken,_ the ring proclaimed, not that he needed the reminder. And it just might help deflect any unwanted female attention, the kind of which his new face seemed to attract.

She lifted his hand and planted a soft kiss upon his knuckles. He cupped her cheek, eager to touch the smoothness of her skin. Rising up to kiss him eagerly, she again ignited the desire he had attempted to bank all night. Within seconds she had him dangerously close to abandoning his intended careful journey back to her after their most recent separation. To make matters worse, she pushed off his shirt and tossed it over her shoulder without a care of where it should come to rest. Smiling up at him mischievously, she pulled up his undershirt and planted her palms upon his bare stomach, making his breath catch.

"Do I have your permission?" she teased.

"Of course," he managed to reply, pulling her closer just as he remembered the large window that exposed them to the darkness beyond. _There are men out there, guarding the premises outside_, he remembered, not willing to risk them seeing anything, regardless of the assurance of privacy he'd been given.

"I'm grateful for such a hasty and liberal decision," she teased, tracing her lips along the low neckline of the thin garment. He cupped her cheek and tipped her head back, loving the soft glow of desire lighting her face.

"Perhaps we should have that dinner now," he choked, forcing both of them to slow down. A movement beyond the glass distracted him, and he turned his back to their view.

"I am quite hungry," she laughed softly, nibbling his chin before she broke away. He watched her rush to the table and pick up a covered serving dish, then nod toward the table. "You can carry the rest on the tray," she hinted in a whisper before padding down the hall in her pointe shoes. "And don't forget the wine," she called back with a giggle.

"What?" he breathed, laughing at her mood and the way that she threw off the mantle of etiquette, just for him.

By the time he entered their bedroom she was waiting by the desk, her hand on the cover. She stretched out her other arm to indicate the curtains she had drawn, then the small fire glowing near the bed.

"You've read my mind," he breathed, placing the tray onto the surface as she lifted the cover for him, allowing a cloud of mouthwatering steam rise from the contents.

"Beef Wellington, with Bordelaise sauce," she announced, her expression twisting with a bit of guilt as she stabbed a piece and fed him. "I know that I said I would cook dinner, but with all the turmoil of tonight's events I thought we should celebrate royally—"

Replacing the lid, he caught her by the waist and swallowed the tender meat. "Come here," he sighed, drawing her into his arms. "I prefer your undivided attention, even to so delicious a slice of beef."

"Then I am happy to oblige," she laughed softly, tugging up the back of his shirt until it lifted from his cummerbund. "But only after a few more bites."

"All right, if you insist," he chuckled, offering her a spoonful of mashed potatoes and gravy. "But I've had my fill of eating alone."

She opened her mouth and ingested the potatoes, smiling and taking the spoon from him to feed him the same. "I share your sentiments completely," she said thickly, her gaze dropping to his lips.

He gave her some meat, noting how the simple flick of her tongue over her lips shot right to the core of his being; worse, she seemed to note the effect.

"Would you like to open the wine?" she breathed, reaching for his cummerbund.

As he turned to unwrap the bottle she worked the satiny length of fabric from his waist, pushing and tugging at him as she did so. By the time the cork popped out she had tossed the garment away and was circling his waist with her arms, kissing his neck as he purposefully set aside the wine. Grabbing her and laughing at her swat of pretended outrage, he pressed her back into the wall, leaning into her as they kissed hungrily. She shoved up his shirt until he pulled it off as she smoothed her hands over his back and bare chest, her touch erasing the lonely days that had separated them since their last intimacy.

Suddenly remembering their last time in his old quarters he vowed that though the former was highly pleasurable in its rushed completion, he wanted this time to be slower and more deliberate. Reaching up to thread his hands into her hair, he took a deep breath and tilted her head up to meet his gaze.

"Would you like your wine now?" he breathed, trying to slow things down.

"No," she panted, pulling at his belt until she had it unfastened, then bending her head to kiss the base of his throat. "Later."

"I'm beginning to think you might have missed me," he said thickly, gently touching the back of her head and glorying in the feel of her lips upon his skin.

"Guilty as charged," she whispered, curling her hands around the back of his shoulders as she looked up with a happy smile. "The only way I could sleep was to come here and try to imagine you were here with me."

He tugged at the ribbon of her chemise, slowly pulling it free. "Ah, the power of imagination," he breathed, tracing a finger along the edge of her dress. "This is lovely, by the way," he said, his eyes following the embroidered patterns along the neckline. "You made it, didn't you?"

Her face lit with pleasure as she nodded. "Just for your premiere, Erik."

He slid his hands slowly down her sides, teasing his fingers over the silky fabric. "It's a work of art," he breathed, lowering his lips to her neck. "And it hasn't all the hindrances which waste time and attention better spent in other pursuits."

She gasped with pleasure. "Your clothing is almost as bothersome," she complained, unfastening the buttons of his waistband. "Which reminds me—I bought you something. I've laid it out for you on our bed."

Having peeled down the top of her dress, he kissed her ear. "Our bed?" he whispered there, making her shiver with delight. "I like the sound of that phrase."

She kissed the muscle over his heart, making him grit his teeth. "You did provide us this wonderful house," she said between kisses. "As well as a very large, delightfully comfortable bed…"

He pulled her head up for a slow and deliberate kiss. "How sensible of me," he breathed, noting the dark well of passion in her eyes. "I would be happy to join you there," he whispered, "if you will lead the way."

_**Meg threaded her fingers through his hair**_ as he turned his head against her chest, settling more comfortably in her embrace. His breath ticked her bare skin and his long, contented sigh made her shiver with pleasure. Beneath the pillows his arms braced her upper back, making her feel cherished and protected. Tracing the fingers of her other hand down his spine, she thrilled at the solid weight of his body in and over hers. He sighed with satisfaction despite their prolonged exertions, but lifted his head at her prompting to accept her slow, languorous kiss. When she felt she had convinced him how much she loved him, she rested her head back with a smile, noting his gaze of bewilderment.

"Where have you been all my life?" he whispered, his eyes golden in the dim light of the fire.

"Right here," she breathed, cradling his head between her hands, "waiting for you."

His lips parted in just the way she craved, their shape and form seductive and compelling. "I don't deserve you," he said quietly, letting her guide his head back down to her chest. She felt the brush of his lashes like a soft whisper against her breast as he settled once again into her embrace.

"It's the other way around," she sighed, lazily running her fingertips through his hair, "but I haven't the strength to argue about it now."

He chuckled softly, nudging his face up to the side of her neck as he stretched higher. She felt the solid strength of his body with every fiber of her being, alive to his merest glance or touch. But he frowned as if he were too heavy for her and shifted to his side, his arm holding her close and still joined to him. They fell silent, taking joy and comfort in each other's presence. After some time she dared to trace the faint ridges of scarring upon his back, remembering how he still turned away so that she would not see them. Refusing to let it trouble her, she knew she must be patient and wait until he was ready to share that part of his past with her.

He sighed again, closing his eyes and nudging his head deeper into the pillows. She curled her hand around his side and pressed her face against his throat, breathing in the spicy scent of his skin that was uniquely his. Here she felt aloof from the outside world, as if they had somehow risen above its harsh realities. She listened to the sound of his breathing as it slowed and lengthened in rhythm, feeling completely at peace. They had no schedule for the next few days, and she sensed they would spend most of their time here, alone in this beautiful room. No roommates, no police to interfere, no rules at all—

"They whipped me for not performing," he said softly, interrupting her thoughts. Afraid to move, she only shifted her gaze to his closed eyes, waiting with breathless anticipation. "It hurt less than the shame of pretending to be something I was not."

She smoothed her hand from his hip to his chest. "Erik, you don't need to—"

His eyes opened and she saw the pain in their dark green depths. "I do," he breathed, slowly shaking his head. "I've never told a living soul, before you."

She felt his fingers gently stroke her upper arm. "But I thought—Maman—"

"Not even she knows," he said quietly, "…only you."

With that astounding confession, she laid her palm to his cheek and kissed him reverently. His response was desperate and hungry, and it rocked her to the core of her being. In that moment she felt something change in their relationship, molding them even closer together. He had trusted her enough to reveal this painful and humiliating secret, even this early in their relationship.

"I love you, Erik," she said softly, tracing his lips with her fingertips.

He closed his eyes. "I could never share that with you, if I didn't love you as I do."

"I love everything about you," she told him, her heart soaring.

His laughter was only touched with a hint of sarcasm. "You know very little about me."

"I love what I know, and freely admit wanting to know everything else about you," she whispered, poking his lower lip with the tip of her finger. His eyes shot open and he nipped it playfully as she added, "_every_ detail, Erik."

His eyes searched hers a moment, then he stretched back into the bed, his arm holding her close as she moved on top of him. "No, not every detail," he sighed, looking over at the fire as she rested her head beneath his chin. "All you need to know is that I've been miraculously changed, without even seeking it."

"Maybe you were seeking it, but didn't realize it," she offered.

After a moment he hugged her closer. "How did you get to be so wise, my love?"

"Maybe I've just endured the same thing, and can recognize it in you."

He nodded. "The real miracle is being able to forgive."

She felt the gently stroke of his hand along her back. "You forgive the people who whipped you…and the family that cast you out?" she whispered.

"Yes, but it took time," he sighed as if with regret. "There's not one soul I haven't forgiven; I cannot afford it."

_**Two hours later Erik awoke**_ to gnawing hunger deep in the pit of his stomach. Waiting until his eyes adjusted to the semidarkness, he glanced over at his sleeping wife. The light glowing from the lantern left lit in the dining room was just enough to allow him the luxury of studying her while she slept. His eyes followed along the lovely curve of her lips, barely opened in sleep, up to the delicate lines of her cheek and the long splay of her lashes. She lay curved into his side, her skin glowing in the soft light. Glancing down to the place where she was cradled against him, he dared to touch his fingertips gently to her lower abdomen. As he did he whispered the verses he'd committed to memory ever since Pieter had given them to him at the parish. He felt exhausted after days without adequate rest, aggravated by his near drowning and ensuing illness. But this was far too important a task, and when he had reviewed them he felt at peace, finally resting his mind.

The night had, to his astonishment and tremendous relief, gone better than he had anticipated. He'd done as he'd been ordered, disguised himself with a repaired face, later donned a mask in order to shifted Paris' attention back to its proper place, their precious opera. He had managed to premiere the beginning of what he hoped would be the music he had always been born to write, starting with the revisions made to "Meg's Song." From now on his music was to take another more recently discovered course, and with the premiere behind him he had successfully laid the phantom to rest. Though his probationary work still waited for him, he and Meg had a few days to enjoy each other's company, and that was also off to a tremendous start. Their lovemaking had been fevered the first time, more patient if not lazy the second, and now that they were together in their own home he felt content. There was nothing that he needed upon which his drowsy mind could focus, and he thought that if he should be called home to his eternal rest he could finally do so with a clear conscience. Though he was not ready to do so, at least not yet.

Meg sighed in her sleep and stretched her foot between his, snuggling her head against his shoulder. The simple pleasure of her nearness filled him with an emotion so strong that his eyes moistened and his throat felt choked. As he curled his arm protectively around her waist, he closed his eyes to escape the unfamiliar and overwhelming emotion, sliding back toward the oblivion of sleep.

_…Nathan_

Erik yawned, squeezing his eyes tighter as he barely recognized the name, but instead of finding oblivion he felt the prod of that name once again. And then he remembered.

_Nathan._

It had been a whisper, a sigh, but now seemed like an announcement. Slowly opening his eyes, Erik stared at the play of light upon the ceiling, suddenly aware of having been addressed. "What?" he half thought, half whispered. Moments passed and he had just decided he was mistaken when his thoughts were interrupted.

_You shall call his name Nathan, for he is a gift…  
_  
Erik felt his fingers tingle and shifted his gaze to the place where they rested, over her womb. Lifting his eyes to stare at her profile, he saw beyond it, as if into the future. His mind shot to the little book she had designed, and suddenly he knew, as clearly as if it had been announced from the rooftops. Tonight, they had made a child...

_Nathan_…

Meg stirred, tensing as she laced her fingers more tightly through his. Turning her head, she looked up at the tears in his eyes and came fully awake. "Erik?" she whispered, lifting her head. "What's wrong?"

He swallowed and smiled, tightening his grip. "I'm sorry I woke you," he whispered back.

She raised her free hand to brush the hair from her eyes. "Do you need your medication?"

"Not yet," he reassured her, deciding to keep the news to himself, at least for now. "In the morning."

"She studied his face and he smiled for her, leaning over to kiss her gently. "Go back to sleep, love."

She sighed, resting her head back upon his chest as her arm curled over his waist. "You need your sleep too," she sighed, already relaxing against him.

He doubted he could sleep at all after such a revelation...a son, named Nathan. Turning his gaze back to her face, he wondered how she had known, even before he did. Thinking he should sometime ask her about that, his stomach growled, apparently loud enough so that she heard.

She smoothed her hand over his stomach. "You're hungry," she smiled with her eyes closed.

He smiled at the ceiling. "I might be."

After a moment she moved, slowly sitting up to gaze down at him, her expression sleepy but full of questions.

"All right, I'm starving," he announced, lifting his arm to set aside the blankets. Pulling on the black silk robe she'd given him, he slid to the edge of the bed and got up without bothering to tie the sash. Padding across the thick rug toward the food, he lifted the lid and gazed over at her. She was half sitting up, holding the sheet over her breasts as she watched him in silence.

"It smells delicious," he hinted with a smile, hearing her soft laugh.

"Go ahead, then," she smiled, leaning back into the upraised pillow behind her.

"It cannot be helped," he explained, setting the lid aside and picking up a plate. "I've not eaten a proper meal in days."

"Neither have I," she stated with a yawn. "I'll join you, if you don't mind serving."

Wishing she were comfortable enough with him to drop the sheet, he watched her eyes travel appreciatively down his length. For some reason he did not mind being naked in her presence, thinking the acceptance in her eyes had a great deal to do with it, not to mention the desire.

"I would be happy to, madam," he answered with a slight bow, spooning out more food onto the same plate. Resting two forks along the edge, he draped a napkin over his arm and carried it over to her, standing at attention while she settled it over her lap. Another trip later he extended to her a glass of red wine, waiting for her to take it from his grasp.

"I don't want to spill anything," she grinned up at him, lifting the fork toward him.

He bent to pick off the meat she offered and chewed it quickly. "You won't," he stated, seating himself on the edge of the bed and lifting his glass. "A toast first?" he suggested, waiting for her to lift her glass. When she did, she looked up with a smile, waiting for him.

He touched his glass to hers. "To us—and to a brighter future."

"Amen," she breathed, drinking a third of her wine. She handed her glass to him as she cut the tender beef with the side of her fork and fed him, feeding herself between. They shared impressions of the premiere, treasuring each other with their eyes and a few stolen kisses between bites. Upon her order to wake her the next time he did, he promised and finally set aside the plate, pulling off his robe and gathering her back into his arms. They settled comfortably close and lay staring at the fire once again.

After a moment she lifted her head and kissed his repaired cheek. "Thank you again for my song," she said softly.

"My pleasure," he sighed. "…how did you know about it, before tonight?"

"I found it with your other music when I went to your old quarters; thankfully it hadn't been added to the pile littering the floor."

"It was to have been a secret between Mon. Reyer and me, but judging by your choreography I knew that hadn't been the case…your performance was very moving, by the way. We were all entranced."

"I had planned it as a surprise for you," she laughed. "Mon. Reyer had done some orchestration a few weeks ago, but nothing like what was played tonight."

"It seems he had us both fooled," Erik sighed.

"It truly is a beautiful piece, Erik—I'm tempted to think you fancied me that long ago, if I didn't know better."

He kissed her temple. "I think I always fancied you, though perhaps not in my mind," he yawned, gathering her close. "Now go back to sleep—I have plans for us tomorrow, and they involve sunlight."

_**Erik plunged his arms into the soapy water,**_ scrubbing the last plate as her hands slid around his waist. He turned his head to meet her kiss, feeling one hand slip dangerously low as he sighed into her mouth. "Careful, my love—unless you want to leave these for later."

She slipped in front of him, bracing herself between his body and the sink. "I'm just thanking you for the delicious omelet," she whispered, gasping when he pulled his hands from the water and grasped her close.

The kiss they shared was hot and lingering, and when she turned around and started to wash he lowered his forehead to her shoulder. Her quiet, happy hum frustrated him no end.

"You cannot do that and then assume I'll be able to resume normal daily activities," he groaned, gripping the edge of the sink.

She turned her head and glanced at his tight expression. "It's your turn to dry," she hinted with a smile.

When his arm shot out to grasp the towel she reached over to set another plate in the rack to drain, eyeing it meaningfully. But he was not going to let her get away with teasing him. At least not this time.

"Like this?" he whispered close to her ear, pressing the towel against the wet spot his hands had made at her hip. She gasped, pulled her arms from the water and turned to pull him down for a kiss.

"Exactly like that," she said huskily, winding her ams around his neck.

He thought vaguely of the guards positioned somewhere outside and gentled his kiss. "You and I have an appointment with the bathtub later today," he said against her lips before he straightened and resumed his dish drying.

"Where are we going first?" she wanted to know, but he wanted to keep their ride on Prince a secret for a little longer.

He held her warm gaze, eagerly anticipating riding double with her again, only this time up to the same park where he had been accustomed to visiting at night. This time he wanted to share it with her, in the daylight.

"It's a secret," he mused, admiring the warmth of her eyes and the beautiful color in her cheeks, he let his gaze travel leisurely down over her petite but compact form. Since the revelation of their having conceived Nathan last night, he had begun to imagine her pregnant with his child, an increasingly alluring picture for his imagination. At one time the very thought would have terrified him, and though he had to confess fear for the baby's safety and appearance, he no longer dreaded the possibility.

Her eyes sparkled as he bent to kiss her nose, interrupted by a knock on the front door. Resting his forehead against hers, he sighed with resolve and dried his hands on the towel.

"I'll go," he offered, starting toward the hallway and feeling her gaze upon him as he went. As he reached the door he heard the tinkle of glassware as she apparently continued washing up. "Yes?" he called, pulling open the door and startling his visitor.

There was Mon. Reyer, nervously clutching his hat between his hands, framed by Detective Gilbert and another man.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt," he said nervously, glancing over at Gilbert. "I merely asked to see you at the inspector's office—"

"All meetings are held here, for the time being," Gilbert said with a knowing smile as he glanced into the house. "We'll only take a few moments of your time."

Erik swept out his arm and stood aside to let them enter, glaring at Gilbert before he glanced toward Meg, who stood with a puzzled look upon her face as she set aside the glass and started toward the parlor.

"Mon. Reyer, Detective," she greeted them, extending her hand toward the sofas. "Please sit down; may we offer you anything?"

Gilbert put up a hand, clutching what looked like newspapers in the other. "Nothing for me, thank you," he said as he seated himself. "I do apologize for the interruption."

She nodded and looked at Mon. Reyer. "You, monsieur?"

"No, no, please—thank you," he answered, "I really only wished to give your husband a letter handed to me last night after the premiere," he said, passing an envelope to Erik. "If you'll let me briefly explain?"

His expression guarded, Erik nodded and seated himself opposite both men, holding out a hand to Meg as she sat upon the arm of his chair. He glanced down at his name written across the front. "How did you know where to find us?"

Reyer glanced at Gilbert, who began to explain. "He came to Leger's office earlier, saying he had to get this to you as soon as possible. And since I had a message for you, I thought I'd bring him along."

Erik raised one brow. "How efficient."

"But first and most importantly I need to give you this," he said, reaching into his coat pocket and handing Erik another envelope. "You have quite a lot of fan mail, even after the performance, but this one is from the judge."

Meg slipped a hand to the base of his neck so that no one could see. He opened the judge's note first, scanning its lines before he looked up. "I hope this is not someone's idea of a joke," he warned, holding Gilbert's smile. "If it is I fail to find it amusing."

"It's no joke, monsieur—you have been declared a free man!"

Meg snatched the letter from his fingers as she stood up to read it herself. Then she laughed with joy. "Oh what wonderful news!"

"What prompted this sudden act of mercy?" Erik wanted to know as he leaned forward, eyeing Mon. Reyer's bemused smile.

"Your success last night, of course," Gilbert said, frowning as he went on. "We barely controlled things until you handled everything so competently, and I'm sure you saw the mob outside, angry that they could not get in to see you. The judge decided, along with the mayor's hearty approval, that it would be in the best interests of the city to nullify your sentence and dismiss you from probation."

"In other words get rid of the threat of any future trouble," Erik surmised. "How generous."

"You are free to leave the city if you so desire, and if not simply do everything you can to avoid any semblance to your former self as the phantom of the opera." Gilbert ordered. "It really is for everyone's benefit, and none of us can afford another mob running out of control.

Erik shook his head. "Aren't such matters decided in court, with charges dropped formally?"

"In your case everything has already been done with the greatest confidentiality—the judge was adamant about that. In fact," he said, looking at Mon. Reyer, "everything seems to be falling nicely into place for your future."

Mon. Reyer, pointed toward the letter he had given him. "Please monsieur, you must open it right away; the gentlemen are waiting for your reply."

Erik studied him a moment, then returned his gaze to Gilbert. "What about my wife?"

"She will receive the proper escort, should she wish to return to the opera. The mask was a very good step, Madame Destler."

"The crown would have recognized her by her dancing," Erik disagreed.

"Only the opera conisseurs," Meg soothed; "the mob wouldn't know who I was."

"That's correct, but I think you both underestimate the success of Christine and Raoul stealing all your limelight—the opera was a tremendous success, and their actions last night are the talk of the town."

Meg looked thoughtful, Erik noted as he sat back in his chair, Reyer's delivery still resting upon his thigh. "They have succeeded in bringing opera down to the gutter," he stated.

"She did it for us," Meg mused, gazing at him. "Don't you see, Erik? Christine freed us to live a normal life…"

"I believe you are both right," Gilbert sighed, glancing at Mon. Reyer, who was staring at the note.

Erik nodded and tore open the envelope, noting the formal letterhead from the University of Glasgow, Scotland. He was aware of Meg sitting at his side again, leaning close to read it. He looked up at Reyer in disbelief.

"They want to interview me for a professorship," he said incredulously. "How can that be?"

"As soon as the performance ended, they came looking for you," Reyer said excitedly. "They were quite upset not to be able to find you, but sensed they could trust me to forward their request on to you. The professors are very influential in the musical world, which you probably know already."

Erik looked back at the letter in his hands, reading their names again. "No, unfortunately I do not."

"Proofessor McAvoy is of advanced age and told me of his wish to retire," Reyer said carefully, "but not before finding his replacement."

Erik was stunned. "Me? A professor?"

Reyer nodded. "They both attended the first tour of _Don Juan_ in London, after which they reserved tickets for last night's premiere. They have followed its success over the continent, and have been most eager to meet the composer."

Erik stared at him in shock. "But it states they wish to interview me on Monday, at the opera house."

Reyer's face lit with excitement. "It is an excellent opportunity, monsieur: they don't even care about your credentials, save for your composition. They were particularly intrigued by "Meg's Song," with its unusual chord structure and tone.

"I don't understand," Erik said, looking up at her. "The song prompted no response from the audience to indicate its finding favor."

"They might have been too stunned to respond," she suggested, "or too distracted by Christine and Raoul's 'performance.'"

"Surely the opinion of two professors of composition far outweigh the public's," Reyer suggested.

Erik leaned back, glancing at Gilbert. "I cannot meet them at the opera house."

"Meet outside the city," he suggested. "Leger will have no objections, and frankly he is eager to move on to other matters. We'll make sure you have a police escort."

"Then it's settled!" Reyer gasped, getting to his feet. "I'll inform them as soon as I return—"

"Please, another moment of your time," Erik requested, rising to go to the secretary. "I would like to request that you carry back my written acceptance."

"Excellent!" Reyer stated, turning to Gilbert. "That is, if I may have a ride back with you, sir."

"Of course," he replied, glancing at Meg. "We brought him here."

"Of course," she nodded, smiling cryptically to Erik. He came back to her side, extending the note to Reyer.

"The time they have chosen is fine, but I am requested we meet at the inn at the steeplechase," he answered, raising a brow toward Gilbert.

"We'll see that you all have safe escort there," Gilbert promised. "Just tell me the time."

"Monday at 2 in the afternoon," Erik agreed.

"Be assured that they only delay their return to see you," Reyer added. "So I am sure that whatever arrangements are made will be acceptable; it was good to see you both," he dismissed himself, already carrying Erik's note as he headed toward the door.

"We will have the coach here at half past twelve on Monday," Gilbert stated, smiling cynically. "So don't be late."

Erik escorted him to the door, shaking his hand and Mon. Reyer's. "Thank you for everything, both of you."

Reyer half bowed with a smile. "If I can aid the career of a fellow musician I am glad to be of service," he replied, nodding to Meg. "I will provide them a good reference for you, as well...and before I forget to mention it, I took the liberty of filing a copyright to "Meg's Song," in your name of course."

Erik stared at him, not releasing his hand. "You've gone through so much trouble on my behalf."

"It was no trouble—what those managers and their board did in stealing your rights and royalties cannot be allowed to continue. I just hope you will forgive an old man for being so impulsive."

"There is nothing to forgive," Erik said. "I am on the contrary indebted to you for all you've done."

Gilbert gestured toward the stack of newspapers he'd left lying on the table. "When you have the opportunity to read them, I think you might enjoy today's headlines," he smiled, nodding to Meg.

They left and were already halfway down the walk when Meg came to his side, winding her arm around his waist. Together they stood watching until the carriage drove off, then she looked up and met his puzzled frown.

"This has certainly been an interesting morning," she said, pulling him aside to close the door. She preceded him to the sofa where they sat and unfolded the newspapers together, reading only as far as the headlines: "Phantom Opera Sensation Upstaged by Don Juan," she read aloud, leaning into his side.

"Don Juan Resurrection A Triumph," Erik read quietly, glancing up at her as he repeated yet another headline. "Phantom Finally Laid to Rest."

She laid her head on his shoulder, holding his gaze. "I'm so sorry, Erik…"

A wave of joy flooded through him as he smiled crookedly at her. "What is there to be sorry for?"

She slowly lifted her head, staring at him incredulously. "You're not upset?"

"Hardly," he breathed. "Don't you see, my love? I'm finally free.."

_"A man's gift maketh room for him, and bringeth him before great men." Proverbs 18:16 MT_

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt _


	54. Epilogue

**_Epilogue_**

Gently opening the carved door to their quarters, Erik peered through the narrow opening at the golden-pink light of sunset flooding the parlor. He smiled at the scene before him, studying the back of Nathan's head bent close to Meg's as they sat together on the sofa. Drinking in the sound of his son's sweet voice, he listened to him read the familiar tale Meg had written as he envisioned her face. He hadn't been gone long, barely a fortnight this time, but it had seemed like an eternity. Swallowing a chuckle at Nathan's mispronunciations, he rested a shoulder against the door jam and took a moment to give thanks for his little family. As Nathan fidgeted and shifted closer to his mother, Erik craned his neck to keep him in sight, spotting the little book held aloft between his son's small hands. There were tiny spikes of dark hair standing up from the top of his head, and as he studied them a slender hand appeared from out of his line of vision to gently smooth them down. Undaunted, Nathan continued to read aloud and turned a page, stalling at one of the words. After a moment Erik heard her patient voice interrupt.

"Wheelchair," she stated, her hand resting atop his small shoulder. Erik watched him look up in profile as if to question her instruction, but she added, "the 'h' is silent, sweetie."

At the sound of her voice Erik was overcome with memories that pulled at his heart and made him stand stock still at the door. He closed his eyes, remembering their last night together before they left from Glasgow ahead of him in order to help Louise with the final details of his new opera. They always hated parting, yet with the end of the semester near he was busy with midterm examinations and grading, not to mention his conducting schedule, and simply could not leave for Paris. But now he stood prolonging their reunion, fascinated by what he was observing and feeling as he stood there alone.

"What's 'weechair,' Maman?"

"'Wheelchair,'" she corrected gently. "It's a chair with wheels."

Nathan giggled. "That sounds silly—I thought you meant a _tiny_ chair!"

"No, darling," Meg laughed softly, "a wheelchair is a very useful way for people who cannot walk properly to get about, enjoy life a bit more."

"I want to see one—why didn't you paint a picture of it in your book?"

"Oh, I couldn't draw it properly—your father would be better at that. He even used a wheelchair once, when his leg was injured."

"Papa? In a wee—_wheel_ chair? But Papa walks good!"

"He didn't always," Erik interrupted, pushing open the door to reveal himself. His eyes darted from Nathan's shocked expression to Meg's beaming smile of welcome."

"You're here!" Nathan shrieked for joy, jumping up and running toward him. Dropping his bag, Erik watched her catch the book just before it fell to the floor."

"Yes I am," he laughed, squatting with his arms out as Nathan lunged into them. Snatching him up, he straightened, lifting him high as he giggled with delight but stretched his arms toward his father. When Erik lowered him and hugged him close, the small arms embracing him filled Erik with peace. When Nathan lowered his head to Erik's shoulder he closed his eyes to savor the moment, feeling his son's hands pat his back as he sighed happily.

"I missed you, Papa."

"I missed you more." 

"Did not."

"Did too."

Hearing steps approaching, Erik opened his eyes and held Meg's warm gaze. She grasped his arm and rose on tiptoes as they shared a soft, lingering kiss. Erik closed his eyes at the heady effect she always had upon his equilibrium, feeling her fingers caress the hair at the back of his neck. He sighed and kissed her softly, feeling Nathan's head rise from his shoulder. Tiny hands gripped his jaw, forcibly turning his head away from Meg.

"Enough kissing!" Nathan said with mild disgust. "Did you hear me reading, Papa?"

"I did indeed," Erik answered, swerving his gaze back to Meg's amused expression. The light in her eyes twinkled as she pressed her cheek to his shoulder. "Very well done," he declared, turning his attention back to his son. "Though I'm upset to have missed the start of something so momentous."

"Don't be sad, Papa—I wanted it to be a surprise!"

"He just picked up a book and started reading, at four years old," Meg said, squeezing his arm.

"I'm almost five, now let me down and I'll read to you!" Nathan begged, bunching Erik's coat in his fists.

Bending to set him down, Erik curled his arm around Meg as they watched him run toward his stack of books. She slid a hand behind his waist and rested the other one over his stomach. Her touch made him want to bend her back and kiss her, but that would have to wait. He gazed down at her and they shared a secret smile as Nathan jumped up and climbed back upon the sofa with two books.

"Welcome back," she breathed, her eyes sparkling before they drifted toward his lips. "I'm glad you came sooner than expected."

"My teaching assistant recovered so I was able to leave last night," he nodded. "I'm going to see about hiring another one so we have more time together."

"Papa sit here," Nathan called, patting the seat next to him as his eyes searched for the right page.

Meg took advantage of his momentary distracting by turning to face him. Gripping his lapels, she pushed his coat back off his shoulders. "Don't give orders to your father, Nathan," she scolded, her voice tinged more with amusement than rebuke.

Erik struggled out of his overcoat and draped it over the chair by his side, pulling her into his arms for a proper kiss. She gripped his waist and gasped in surprise, kissing him back. Ignoring Nathan's moan of protest, Erik sampled her lips with soft kisses until she sighed with contentment. Slowly opening her eyes to stare up at him, he smiled wickedly and watched the fire of challenge light her eyes. Stroking a hand down his chest in promise of a later continuance, she took his arm and tugged him toward the sofa.

Nathan looked up, gripping Meg's book. "I want to read you this whole page," he stated as Erik sat down and lifted him onto his lap.

Meg pressed close at his side and he turned his head toward her. "He can read an entire page?"

She nodded. "We've been practicing."

Erik eyed his son. "This book?" he clarified, glancing meaningfully toward the pile of picture books on the table. But Nathan guided his head back with a hand upon his roughened cheek.

"This one is more grown up," he explained. "Ready, Papa?"

"I am," he announced, leaning back and directing his attention to the book. Nathan had chosen the first page, after all his sifting through the others.

"This is a book I made for you, _Nathan_," he began, glancing up at Erik with a tiny smile at his own name.

"Excellent," Erik declared, trying to pay attention despite the touch of Meg's hand resting upon his thigh. "Please, continue."

Pointing to each word with his forefinger, Nathan read the entire page, looking up expectantly from time to time. His expression was so serious that Erik had all he could do not to laugh. Hiding a grin, he slowly wiped a hand over his growing stubble, shaking his head in amazement when he finished.

"I'm astonished," he said, sitting back and holding Nathan's gaze. "That was absolutely—why, I believe you've left me quite speechless!"

Nathan laughed gleefully, slipping off his lap to stand and bow formally. "You aren't speeshless for long!" he giggled.

Meg leaned forward to pull him closer, kissing his cheek and smoothing back a spike of his hair. "That was wonderful, Nathan! Tomorrow we can work on another page, but it's getting late and your father is tired from his trip—off to your pajamas and bed, young man."

Erik extended his hand and they shook. "Well done, son—I couldn't have asked for a better surprise."

"I want a bedtime story," Nathan warned with a mischievous grin, then ran off. They heard his footsteps echo down the hall followed by the slam of his bedroom door.

Erik snaked out his arm and brought her closer, wrapping her tightly inside his embrace. She pressed her lips to his throat and kissed him there. He cupped her cheek and lifted her head, kissing her with teasing expertise as a wave of desire crashed over him. Forcing himself to stop, he leaned his head back against the upholstery and watched her slowly open her eyes. He felt her caress his scraggly beard and watched her smile grow.

"It's softer than it looks," she whispered, tenderly kissing his lips before gazing into his eyes. "I miss you more every time we're parted…I'll never get used to it, Erik."

He traced a finger along her lower lip, then across her cheek. "I've been insane with wanting you," he breathed with a tight smile.

"That's what I like to hear," she whispered, smoothing a hand over his chest as her eyes lit with desire. "How much time do we have?"

He kissed her meaningfully, pulling back just to look into her eyes again. "Not long, I imagine."

She nodded, loosening his collar. "How was your trip?" she asked thickly, gasping as he turned her back against the arm of the sofa and leaned over her.

"Long," he breathed, kissing her deeply as he slid a hand over her abdomen. "And how is our little one?"

She caressed the back of his head, gazing longingly into his eyes. "Not showing yet," she smiled, leaning up to kiss his chin. "But by the time _Joseph in Egypt_ premieres in London, these clothes will be too tight."

"I managed to get leave approved until then," he told her, dipping his head to kiss the side of her neck. 

She shuddered with pleasure, gripping his head with both hands and stretching beneath him. "Rehearsals have gone very well," she sighed, directing him back for her kiss. "Even you will be pleased," she teased.

"Papa—I'm ready!" Nathan called, bringing their foreplay to an abrupt halt. They looked at each other and chuckled.

"He's grown since you left," Erik stated, helping her to her feet. "I can see a slight difference in height."

"He takes after his father," she smiled, clasping his arm.

"Thankfully he has _your_ sense of humor," he breathed.

"Well, he walked at ten months, now he's reading a four and half," she said with a shrug. "I suppose composing is next."

"Papa!" Nathan's voice scolded as he appeared at the threshold wearing pajamas, robe and slippers. "What is taking you so long?"

Erik pulled her close against his side. "Your mother and I have been talking."

Nathan made a face. "And _kissing_!"

Meg laughed at his expression, stepping in front of him and pulling his arms around her from behind.

"You'll understand how important that is when you're older," Erik assured him.

"_Much_ older," she added, placing her hands over his.

"Like eating green beans," Nathan complained, glancing at the door when they heard a knock.

Erik sighed and glanced down at her. "Are you expecting anyone?"

"Not really, but Mon. Reyer has been very anxious to discuss the closing theme with you," she guessed, disentangling herself from his embrace.

He went to the door as she put her hands on Nathan's shoulders, watching expectantly as he opened it. Freezing at the sight before him, he heard her gasp of surprise as well as Nathan's enraptured exclamation. For standing before him, face to face, was his mirror image.

Stunned, Erik watched the man smile hesitantly, slowly lifting a hand to remove his hat. His grey eyes were lit with a mixture of awe and gratitude. Erik stared at him, scanning his features, build and height and finding them nearly identical to his. He was aware of an extended hand and the pleading in the man's expression as he clasped his hand but was unable to move beyond that. He heard the man clear his throat and speak in a voice similar to his own, though slightly higher in pitch.

"Erik Destler," the man said with wonder, finally letting his own gaze flit down Erik's length before returning it to his. "I'm Joshua Destler—your brother."

Meg gasped and Nathan shouted for joy as Erik tightened his grip more than he realized. Seeing him wince, he quickly dropped his hand, still staring at him but unable to speak. To his horror he felt his eyes flood with unshed tears.

"If you only knew how long I've been searching for you," Joshua said, his own voice breaking with emotion. But he smiled happily, shaking his head in joyful wonder. "And now I've found you, at last."

"I have a brother?" Erik managed to croak, beginning to note the subtle differences between them. Joshua was a bit more stocky in build, though the same height as he was. His beard was heavier though neatly trimmed. There were tiny lines creasing the corners of his eyes and mouth. And most importantly, he showed no sign of a deformity.

His smile broadened as he nodded. "A twin brother, to be exact," he said, his smile fading. "Maybe you sensed it, as I have…like something was missing from your life but you could not identify it."

Erik slowly shook his head, aware of Meg and Nathan coming to his side as he stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. "I don't understand," he breathed, unable to deny their uncanny resemblance. "Where have you—how did you _find_ me?"

Joshua winced, glancing toward Meg and Nathan. "Is this your family?" he asked softly, his smile returning.

Realizing how he was acting, Erik apologized as he touched Meg's shoulder. "My wife Marguerite, and our son Nathan…"

"Your eyes are just like my Papa's, only a little bluer," Nathan said, his expression filled with wonder.

"It's wonderful to meet you," Meg said softly, glancing up at Erik. "Please, come sit down—may I take your coat?"

He nodded, beginning to take it off. "Yes, thank you," he replied, nodding to Nathan. "I have two sons who look a bit like you, only they are older."

"Forgive me," Erik told him with a hesitant smile. "I fear that I'm still in shock..."

"I'm shocked myself," Joshua laughed, handing Meg his coat and hat and following Erik toward the sofa. "I cannot begin to tell you how difficult it was to trace you."

Nathan climbed onto Erik's lap as they sat opposite each other, and Erik put his arm around his son's waist.

"I'll make some tea," Meg announced, and Erik turned to nod his thanks before redirecting his attention back to his brother, still amazed to be associating such a word with himself.

"If it weren't for that sketch of you in the London papers, I doubt I would have found you at all," Joshua announced.

"What sketch? Erik asked, leaning over to pick up Nathan's other book and hand it to him at his silent request.

"It accompanied an article announcing your promotion to full professor, I believe," Joshua stated, eyeing Nathan with a smile. "It also alluded to the opening of your new opera here in Paris," he added, again staring at Erik. "I had to come, even if only to meet you."

"I'm glad that you did," Erik answered, considering the fact that even he hadn't seen the article. "It seems that our meeting is a divine appointment, and not just a coincidence."

Joshua's expression was that of relief. "Whatever the reason, I am thrilled to meet you, Erik. It's as if I have finally come to the end of a long journey spent searching for you."

Erik glanced toward an unusually silent Nathan, hugging him and smiling at his contented grin. Relaxing back, he shook his head thoughtfully. "I don't understand how you even knew I existed…as far as I was concerned, I was completely alone." 

Joshua leaned toward him, lacing his finger together. "When I turned five years old my family told me that I had been adopted," he said carefully, glancing at Nathan a moment, "just about your age, son."

"You were _five_?" Nathan asked incredulously, covering his mouth to stifle a giggle before returning to his book, yet stealing furtive glances at him.

"Indeed I was, long ago," Joshua assured him, gazing back at Erik. "At first I didn't understand, but later I found myself consumed with questions. I had to know who my real family was, and why they gave me up for adoption."

Erik glanced away as the pain of not only his rejection, but his brother's as well, cut deeply into his heart. Still, he hung upon every word Joshua spoke as the whistle of the teakettle and the soft clink of china drifted toward them from the kitchen.

"So began a quest to find my parents," Joshua continued. "And when I discovered the record of our birth, I was ecstatic."

Erik looked back into his waiting gaze. "I assumed it was never filed, having searched for it myself," he told him.

"You wouldn't have found it if you assumed we were French," Joshua explained, waving a hand. "The main thing you need to know is that attached to our birth certificate was a letter, written by our mother—"

Erik lifted Nathan from his lap, nodding reassuringly to him when he turned to face him. "Go to your mother and see if she needs help," he explained, relieved when he ran happily off. Once they were alone, he studied Joshua's expression, seeing his own pain mirrored there. He waited, seated on the edge of the sofa, not sure he wanted to hear what he had to say but unable to help himself. He too had to know.

Joshua leaned closer. "She was a single mother, Erik," he said pleadingly. "And I have reason to believe that she was Roma, which would explain the cloak of mystery surrounding our origins."

Erik stared at him in disbelief. "A gypsy?"

Joshua nodded. "I found her grave outside a small village in Hungary, buried alongside others—they didn't even consider our people fit enough to share the same graveyard."

As his mind flooded with unbidden images of the traveling circus, fortune tellers and musicians, Erik closed his eyes, his heart racing. Half of him wanted Meg here at his side, the other half wanted to conceal everything from her in order to protect her. He imagined his mother, alone and frightened, pregnant as his own wife now was. His throat constricted with grief for all the years he had judged her cruel and heartless.

"A few of the elders in the village remember her," Joshua continued. "The others are very tight lipped about our people, still resentful of their coming to settle nearby even though it was only temporarily. There was an older couple who seemed to understand my quest; they were cooperative enough, at least until I asked how we might have come to be separated despite our mother's wishes. After that it was impossible to gain any further information from any of them."

Erik raised his hands to his temples, balancing his elbows upon his knees as he kept his head bowed. The past rose up before him, for once beginning to make terrible sense. For the first time in his life he began to realize how his mother must have fared, alone and apparently unwed with two infant sons to care for, one severely deformed. To make matters worse, she belonged to a feared and despised people who seemed to encounter persecution wherever they seemed to travel.

"She died within a year of giving birth to us, Erik, but her letter clearly states her wish that we be kept together in the event of anything happening to her."

"Do you have this letter?" he croaked, unable to look up.

"Yes, I brought it with me, along with our birth certificate," Joshua stated, and Erik heard him opening his briefcase. "You can read it for yourself and see what her heart was. Unfortunately, her wish was not granted and all traces of you were lost."

"That's not surprising," Erik said cynically. These memories were painful and he was sorely tempted to end this discussion and go to bed. He was exhausted after a busy schedule and the long journey to Paris, and he desperately needed to be with his wife. Yet even as he considered asking Joshua to come back in the morning and finish their story, he doubted he would ever find sleep now.

"Why do you say that?" Joshua asked defensively. "…Erik?"

"I have a deformity," he answered, looking up at his brother's handsome face. "It has only recently been surgically corrected."

"But we were infants," Joshua said, looking at him doubtfully. "And you look healthy and sound enough to me."

Erik sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've had facial surgery…it's a long and rather complicated story."

"Well all that matters now is that I've found you," Joshua insisted as he handed over the documents and got up. "And though I very much wish to hear your story, I do not wish to impose. You must have just returned from Scotland, and your little boy looks half asleep."

Erik clutched the papers, turning his head to follow his brother's nod. In the hall stood Meg, holding a very sleepy looking Nathan in her arms. His head dropped to her shoulder as she smiled at them.

"He was up very early today," she whispered, and Erik knew it was because Nathan always waited up for him when he had a long day, or rose early when he was coming back from travel. She glanced from Erik to Joshua, nodding toward the kitchen.

"Tea is waiting," she said softly as Erik came to lift Nathan into his arms. "We can dine in here, if you don't mind."

He cradled his son over one shoulder and met her gaze, nodding halfheartedly before turning to face his brother. "Can you wait a moment while we see him settled?" he asked softly.

Joshua nodded, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "All right," he said hesitantly, glancing at Meg. "I can only stay until 8, when I must return to my hotel to prepare for a dissertation in the morning."

Erik nodded. "Can you stay for the premiere?"

"Of course," he agreed. "After meeting with one client, I have the entire week set aside. I was hoping we could get to know each other?"

"You must stay with us," Meg insisted quietly, looking to Erik for his assent.

"Yes, please do."

Joshua put up a hand. "Thank you but no," he said, glancing around their quarters. "I don't wish to impose—"

"We have a house above the city," Erik explained quietly. "We are only staying here tonight, to ready for the opening tomorrow afternoon."

"And there is plenty of room there," Meg whispered. "Even a separate apartment for my mother, who lives with us."

Joseph shrugged and smiled. "All right, if you insist—I'd be happy to."

"_**Papa, can you read me the part about Joseph and his brothers?"**_ Nathan asked sleepily, stretching his arm toward the Bible which Erik held open on his knee.

"Of course," he replied, meeting Meg's knowing look. "And tomorrow you can see it with your own eyes."

"I'm playing the youngest son," Nathan reminded him. "You're singing Joseph, and Maman is dancing as my pretend mother," Nathan said with a yawn, closing his eyes. "The brothers were so mean to him…"

"Yes, but he forgave them," Erik answered, leaning over to kiss his forehead. "Now listen a bit."

Meg leaned a hand upon his shoulder, gently massaging it and the back of his neck as he read to Nathan about the birth of Joseph's sons in the land which had at first enslaved him, then over which he ruled. It was one of his Nathan's favorite stories from the Bible, and had inspired his newly written opera, _Joseph and Asenath._

"What was Maman's name?" Joseph asked sleepily after only a few verses.

"Asenath, his beloved wife," Erik answered, closing the Bible and lifting the blankets higher to his chin. He got up slowly and stood watching while Meg bent over Nathan to kiss his cheek. "She brought him comfort and love, in the midst of his troubles," he added softly, holding her gaze and thinking she had never looked more beautiful, her expression serene.

They paused together to look back at their son, already sound asleep in his bed. Erik took her in his arms, feeling the small bulge of their baby against his lower abdomen as she held him tightly. With a deep sigh he reached between them to nudge up her chin for a lingering kiss.

"I love you," he whispered, his throat tight with emotion. She buried her face against his chest before they stepped out into the hall, separating only slightly to walk back toward the kitchen.

"Now let's go pour that brother of yours a cup of tea," she whispered, smiling radiantly up at him. In doing so she lifted him from his dark mood concerning the past and set him back in the present, with renewed hope for the future. 

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_

_**NOTE:**_ This story is based upon the movie version of Andrew Lloyd Webber's "Phantom of the Opera" as well as the original story by Gaston Leroux, who owns the characters and basic plot and to whom I am so grateful. I extend special honor and thanks to Mr. Gerard Butler for his gifted and unforgettable interpretation and performance, and for providing the world an outstanding example of the depths of human suffering as well as the heights of emotion experienced by "the man behind the mask." My character Cremieux is loosely based upon Adolphe Cremieux, a Jewish defender of civil rights who founded the Alliance Israelite Universelle in 1860, headquartered in Paris which aided the plight of tens of thousands of Russian Jews entering France beginning in 1870 (see A History of the Jews, 1947 by Solomon Grayzel). Their suffering, as well as that of the Roma people, remains a shameful reality. On a much lighter note, I wish to thank all of my readers, both those who have reviewed the story as well as those who have chosen to remain silent, with special thanks to penkitten for her valuable editing work. Please try my next story, "The Quartering" which will appear in the upcoming weeks. _**cslev  
**_


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